


My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh

by giddytf2



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Spock, Babies, Begging, Biting, Bless this universe, Blow Jobs, Bones is a good bro, Bottom Jim, Childbirth, Consensual Sex, Consensual Violence, Crossdressing Kink, Domestic Fluff, Earthquakes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual James T. Kirk/Spock, Everyone Needs A Hug, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Fanart, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Hallucinations, Humor, Hurt Jim, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, I SHIT YOU NOT, Implied Child Illness, James T. Kirk Has Issues, Jim needs a hug, Kid Fic, Lactation Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Lactation, Master/Slave, Mind Meld, Mpreg, Non-Linear Narrative, OTP Feels, Oblivious James T. Kirk, Oblivious Spock, Omega Jim, Omega presenting, Past Child Abuse, Poetry, Pon Farr, Post Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, Roleplay, Romance, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Soul Bond, Spirk feels to the MAX, Strangulation, T'hy'la, Telekinesis, Telepathic Bondage, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Spock, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vulcan, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Dialogue, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Mind Melds, door sex, from The Guardian, graphic childbirth, spock needs a hug, vulcan humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 123,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/pseuds/giddytf2
Summary: When Jim feels the first gush of slick soaking down the inner seam of his pants, he shuts his eyes and turns his face away from Spock towards the mottled-stone wall of their solitary cell. Spock is staring at him. Spock has no idea what's just happened, what's just begun. Spock has no idea that their situation is about to get so much worse.Fuck, Jim thinks, curling up into a ball of bruises and ragged gold, his arms quivering and clutching his bent legs. Fuck my life for being a goddamn Omega.(Or, a Star Trek: AOS story post-Into Darkness in a universe where both Alpha/Beta/Omega gender dynamics and pon'farr exist, with Jim being an Omega going into heat and Spock experiencing his first pon'farr while trapped in a cell with Jim. Oh my.The main story is in chapters 1 to 3. Chapters after that are an extension of the story of Jim and Spock and their little family throughout the years. Spirk family fluff and angst, ahoy!)





	1. My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Star Trek story, but far from my first fanfiction. Post-Into Darkness and practically ignores the third film so no worries about getting spoiled for it in any way.
> 
> Heed the tags! For those of you who aren't fans of MPREG and childbirth scenes, you can actually read this first update as a complete story. It's only in the 2nd and 3rd updates that there's more focus on the pregnancy itself, as well as the birth in the third update (which may be considered graphic depending on your definition of it). 
> 
> Also, I would like to give much thanks to the [Vulcan Language Tumblr](http://vulcanlanguage.tumblr.com) for their essential translations. I don't know where half the story would be without them.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Aniron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHKIPBsOC_g). 
> 
> C'mon, the love theme for a Human and a pointy-eared, otherworldly being? It was fated, man.

When Jim feels the first gush of slick soaking down the inner seam of his pants, he shuts his eyes and turns his face away from Spock towards the mottled-stone wall of their solitary cell. Spock is staring at him. Spock has no idea what's just happened, what's just begun. Spock has no idea that their situation is about to get so much worse.

 _Fuck_ , Jim thinks, curling up into a ball of bruises and ragged gold, his arms quivering and clutching his bent legs. _Fuck my life for being a goddamn Omega_.

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jim," Bones says, staring at him with those old, hazel-green eyes sharp like scalpels. "If Starfleet finds out that you're an Omega and not an Alpha, they'll never let you graduate. You're not even supposed to _be_ on command track."

Jim takes another swig of Bones' bourbon. He hisses as it flows down his throat into his roiling belly. He leans against Bones and lays his head on Bones' broad shoulder. Bones doesn't nudge him away but then they're sitting side by side on his bed in their dorm and they're well on their way to being buzzed and feeling good and for a while, just a while, Jim doesn't care that he is what he is.

"Good thing I've got you as my doctor, don't I?" Jim replies, and grins up at his Beta roommate and best friend, already seeing their adventurous future unfurl in the black-velvet star-studded infinity of space.

 

<<< >>>

 

They call themselves the X'chigari, but Jim prefers calling them _you five-eyed hunched-back sadistic shit-eating fuckers_. He isn't being metaphorical about the shit-eating either, which just adds a whole other level of grossness to him and Spock being their prisoners and completely cut off from the Enterprise.

"Captain, they are almost two hours late in delivering our daily meal," Spock says from where he's sitting on the sanded-smooth rock floor, long and lean legs crossed, loose hands resting upon knees, spine as straight as ever.

Jim paces the twelve-feet-length of the cell, hands fisted at his sides, frowning. Two days. They've been stuck in this shithole for two days already and Spock is calm and quiet and somehow still able to tell how _late_ those fuckers are in giving them their food (and he isn't proud that he wouldn't touch said food until Spock ate it first and verified that it was _not_ gross alien feces, merely some form of tasteless bread).

"What, no decimal point, Spock?"

Jim says this with not-very-concealed affection, but he's sure that's not why Spock stiffens or why Spock's face goes blank. It's not the normal Vulcan-blank that Jim (and no one else) can see through by now. It's the kind of blank that says, _fuck me, I've just realized something very, very bad but I'm not going to say a word about it and I'm going to pretend everything's in working order_.

It's the kind of blank that _Jim_ gets on his face, not Spock.

"One point seven hours," Spock says after a minute. Literally.

Jim halts in his tracks and stares down at Spock, his hands loosening, his frown deepening. He knows Spock has a pretty damn accurate internal chronometer thanks to Vulcan childhood training. (Not that Spock told him that; he learned that on his own with his magic fingers and a probably-not-approved-by-anybody-much-less-Vulcans undertaking called 'hacking into information databases about Vulcans and their culture'.) Spock can be blindfolded and locked into a box in a windowless cellar and he'll somehow still be able to tell the time by the hour and minutes and even _seconds_ if Jim asks for them. Spock needing a _minute_ just to tell him time to only one decimal place?

Something isn't right. Something hasn't been right since Spock went _nuts_ in the mess four days ago and frightened everybody around him (and he wasn't there when Spock needed him, he didn't know and he wasn't there).

"Are you okay?"

Spock raises those intense, deep brown eyes until they're gazing back at Jim. Jim thinks that Spock's long, lush eyelashes are ridiculous. He thinks that they're ridiculous and so are the big, brilliant eyes that they frame and those highly angular eyebrows and those green-tinged, luscious _lips_ and _he's_ ridiculous for thinking such things about Spock right now. (For thinking such things for months now, when Spock is with Uhura and not him, _not_ him.)

"Yes, Captain. I am fine."

Spock's hands aren't loose anymore. They grip the knobby knees of long, lean legs that Jim's dreamed about more than once along with the rest of Spock.

Jim wants to say, _fine has variable meanings, fine is unacceptable_. Jim wants to kneel in front of Spock and touch those ridiculous, long, lush eyelashes with his fingertips, touch the ridiculous pointed tips of those Vulcan ears. Touch their foreheads together. Their lips, together. Ridiculous.

"Okay, fine," Jim mumbles instead, staring at the green flush of Spock's cheeks and thinking, _Uhura, remember Uhura_ and then, _Vulcans really suck at lying_.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim has to figure out how to program the replicators to brew up bourbon. He really does. Sure, it's against the regs. Sure, he's the captain and he's supposed to set a fine and responsible example for his crew. (Bad alcohol, bad, _bad_ , especially that _moonshine still_ Scotty constructed in Engineering that he shouldn't know about but totally does.) Sure, Bones will turn his nose up at it and mock it and probably say something like, _I'd rather be an Orion's ass wiper_ _than drink_ that _nasty, fake swill_ , but what the hell. Bones will probably prefer that Jim drink the replicated stuff if it means the real stuff doesn't go the way of Jim's voracious gullet before the first year of the Enterprise's five-year-mission of space exploration is over.

"Jim. Jim, I think you've had enough, kid."

"Nuh uh. No. Nyet. Nirsh."

" _Nirsh_?"

Jim drains his glass, then slams it on the polished surface of Bones' office desk.

"Nirsh," Jim proclaims regally with one (wobbly) forefinger in the air. "That means no in Vulcan." He sniffles. Rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "No, wait, the correct word is rai. Ri? Rai, ri, nirsh. I like nirsh. Let's go with nirsh. _Nirsh_!" A sound akin to a hiccup hops out of his mouth. Then he says, "Did you know, Bonesy, that Vulcans have a dessert called ameelah that tastes like fried bananas? And they got - they got _ice cream_ but they call it le-sum-krim? It took me _aaaages_ to program both into the replicators!"

Bones and his twin are shaking their heads at him.

"Good lord, Jim. You've got it _bad_."

Jim makes a face and waves one (wobbly) hand in the air, almost smacking himself in the face. His face. His very, very handsome face. He knows lots of people think his face is a very, very handsome face. Why doesn't Spock think his face is a very, very handsome face? (Why doesn't the most important person think that?)

"Doesn't matter. He's with her. End of."

He tips his glass to his mouth and only then remembers that he's drunk all the bourbon and that if he wants more, he has to get more from Bones and his twin brothers. Wow, the synchronized head shaking thing they've got going on is pretty groovy. (See, Bones is wrong, he's so _cool_ when he's drunk, he can make use of 20th century slang and use it right!) He should ask the other two Bones about all the sleazy crap they must know about Bones. The first Bones. The original Bones. The only Bones. Whatever.

"Jim, this can't go on forever. You know that."

 _Stop sounding so_ kind _, Bones_.

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to decide."

Shit, did he say that aloud? _Whatever_.

Jim gazes at Bones with what he's 99.357% sure is an expression worthy of a respectable, sober captain of the coolest and prettiest starship in the entire universe. See, he can do calculations up to three decimal places too. Who cares if they're not accurate. He's only Human. He's not Vulcan. (And maybe _that's_ the reason that Spock doesn't _like_ him like he _likes_ Spock. Nevermind that Spock is half-Human and Uhura - Spock's _girlfriend_ \- is full Human. Like him.)

"Decide what?"

"Don't play dumb. You're not dumb. You know it and I know it."

"Aw, you're so sweet, Bones."

"I mean it, Jim. You need to decide whether to tell that green-blooded hobgoblin how you _feel_ about him or let him go and move on. It's messing you up as it is."

Jim jabs a (very wobbly) finger at Bones. The Bones in the middle of the other two Bones. Same difference.

"Are you acchush - accush - _accusing_ me of being a bad captain?"

"No. I'm accusing you of running away from your problem with your _Commander_ when you should be dealing with it like a grown-up, you brat!"

Suddenly Jim's head feels as heavy as twenty Enterprises stacked on top of each other. He groans and lets his twenty-Enterprises-heavy head fall forward to thunk his forehead on Bones' desk. Bones' desk is smooth and very nice to rest his forehead on. Maybe he'll sleep here tonight instead of in his quarters that's connected to Spock's via their shared bathroom. Spock, so near and yet so far. Spock. Spock, Spock, _Spock_.

 _Ki'pak-tor nash-veh kashek ovsoting_ , he thinks to himself. _I've really lost my mind_.

 _Ri tun-tor nash-veh_ , he also thinks. _I don't care_.

"I'm fucked if I do. I'm fucked if I don't," Jim mutters, and he has to laugh at the fact that no actual fucking is going to happen to him anytime soon. He hasn't been interested in having sex with anyone apart from Spock since awaking nine months ago from that two-week-long coma and recovering from the radiation poisoning that pretty much killed him. Well, until Bones injected him with _Khan's superhuman blood_ and brought him back to life and no, he is _not_ going to think about that. He's alive. He'll count his blessings about _that_.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ , Bonesy," Jim slurs to the desk top, "that if I'm ever stupid enough to tell Spock how I _feel_ , he'll think I'm some disgusting slut who's out to ruin his relationship with Uhura and never speak to me again."

 _And leave the Enterprise. Leave me. Like everyone else_.

Jim doesn't say any of those things. He doesn't want to tempt Fate _that_ much.

He hears Bones sigh heavily. He feels Bones' large hand on the crown of his head, ruffling his hair and fuck it, why is a mere touch like that getting him all choked up?

"What did I tell you about calling yourself that?"

"Nash-veh veling va'asaya t'don," Jim mutters. _I'm just an imitation of dignity_.

"What's that? Are you speaking hobgoblin to me? Stop speaking _hobgoblin_ and speak English to me, for god's sakes!"

"That I shouldn't 'cause I'm not a disgusting slut."

"That's right. Being an Omega is _not_ synonymous with 'disgusting slut', you hear me? You got this really bad habit of insulting my best friend who's one of the bravest, kindest souls I've ever known. Who's already saved Earth twice!"

Even choked up like he is, Jim has to smile for a moment at that. He just wishes he could have saved Spock's home planet too. (He really wishes he could have saved Spock's mom too. Sometimes - and Spock will certainly consider this _illogical_ in that deadpan, fabulous way of his - he really wishes he could have saved his dad too, nevermind that he was barely minutes old when his dad died.)

"You think about what I've said. This can't go on. You're not eating well, and I'll bet my Southern behind that you aren't sleeping well either. You _know_ I'll do what I have to as CMO of this damn hunk of metal if you don't take care of yourself. Don't make me take out the _hypos_."

"Yes, Bonesy-wonesy. I'll take care of myself."

Bones scratches his scalp in retaliation.

"That's _Doctor McCoy_ to you, you _brat_."

Jim doesn't comment on Bones' gentle tone. Bones doesn't comment on Jim letting him pet his head. Neither of them comment on how much Jim sucks at lying when it comes to matters of his goddamn heart.

 

<<< >>>

 

Spock is staring at him and it is _really_ not helping him to deal with the mounting, slick-wet ache between his legs. Fuck, he hasn't suffered a heat since he was a teenager, since getting his hands on heat suppressants that stopped him from turning into a - a _disgusting slut_ and yeah, Bones _hates_ it when he thinks of himself that way but Bones has never seen him in heat before. (And if he has any say about that, Bones _never, ever will_.)

Thanks to Bones, he hadn't experienced a heat and any of its symptoms since they began their studies at the Academy. The annual heat suppressant shots – the really effective stuff, the _expensive_ stuff that his teenage self could never have afforded - guaranteed that. Bones remembers for him to get the shot better than _he_ does, so the fact that he'splummeting headlong into a heat now can mean only one thing: Bones didn't give him the shot this year because Bones was too damn busy saving his life from goddamn _fatal_ radiation poisoning to remember it this time. (Bones is definitely off the hook for this.)

Even if Bones were to appear out of nowhere right now, it would still be too late to administer the shot. Once the slick comes gushing out, that's it, the heat is _on_ and it isn't going away until Jim's body is satisfied that it's been knotted good and _tight_ and pumped to bursting seams with Alpha semen.

Oh, and there's also the fact that Omegas' experiences of heat can vary drastically. Some Omegas wake up from their heats with no recollection of what happened to them. Some Omegas go through their heats in a haze, remembering only glimpses and brief jolts of movement and sounds. Some Omegas live every crystal-clear second in real time and in memory, every taste and touch and smell and _sensation_ made hyper-real and magnified.

Guess which group of Omegas lucky, _lucky_ James Tiberius Kirk belongs to, hm?

Fuck his life. Just _fuck_ it with a Klingon bat'leth.

"Jim. You are in pain."

It takes Jim a very long time to realize that Spock didn't call him Captain. It takes him even longer to realize that he's been whimpering, that he's trembling from head to toes and he can't stop it.

"I'm ..."

Huddled against the wall farthest from Spock with his arms wrapped around his lower belly and his legs drawn up to his chest, Jim tries again to speak and fails. His breaths are shallow and swift. His face tingles and feels warm. The crotch of his pants is drenched with slick. His hole is clenching and _aching_ to be filled with something long and hot and _thick_ , something with a _big_ knot that'll plug him up _deep_ while he's glutted fat with Alpha come.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , does a Vulcan cock _have_ a knot?

Jim gasps. His legs jerk with shock. Holy shit, did he actually just _think that_? No! No, no, no, no, _no_. Spock is _Uhura's boyfriend_ and Spock is _straight_ , he must be since he's never mentioned being interested in men, much less shown it so there's no way Spock will ever want to have sex with _him_ -

Jim presses himself bodily against the wall with a high-pitched whine when Spock stands up in one elegant motion and starts to approach him.

"No! Don't come near me!"

He swivels his face towards the wall again. He hides his flushed face from Spock, hides his rapidly growing erection behind his folded legs and under his forearms. Spock is a Vulcan and therefore neither Alpha, Beta or Omega, but his _scent_ is just ... it's as potent as an Alpha male's rut pheromones, if not more so. It's spicy and wood-like and makes Jim think of red, sizzling sand and beaten, vibrating gold and it's driving him _crazy_ with lust and desperation to be fucked _hard_.

"Jim, ri s'frei nash-veh -" _I don't understand_ -

"Please, just, don't. Just ... stay there."

Spock does. Spock sits back down on the floor.

Spock is staring at him again. Jim doesn't have to look at Spock to know that Spock is thinking. To know that Spock is going to put the two and two together, and arrive at the only answer possible.

And when that happens, their friendship will never be the same again.

 

<<< >>>

 

In retrospect, Jim should have seen all the signs. He should have known when Spock stared at him through that transparent aluminum door and let those precious tears roll down from those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes. He should have known when Spock called him Jim for the first time with that low, resonant voice at his hospital bedside. He should have known when Spock materialized on the transporter pad of the Enterprise in that snug blue uniform and called him Captain without so much as a blink or head tilt. He should have known when Spock said yes to every offer of a game of chess in his quarters although they could have played in the rec room. He should have known when Spock would argue with him every time he insisted on beaming down with the team to explore a new world and protect his people (protect _Spock_ ) from whatever harm may come their way.

He should have known when Spock chose to stay with him instead of beaming back on board the Enterprise with the rest of the team, when Spock chose to become the X'chigari's second prisoner in defiance of his direct orders to go to safety, to leave, to leave him behind (because that's what everyone does).

He should have known that, like a certain golden-haired, blue-eyed Human, a Vulcan can say _I love thee_ in many other ways too.

 

<<< >>>

 

"You think you're gonna go out into space like your _dad_ did, Jimmy-boy? You think you're gonna be a _hero_ like he was? Don't make me laugh, you little Omega slut. Your mom can't stand the sight of you. Sam left because he couldn't stand the sight of you. _I_ can't stand the sight of you either, and yet here I am, stuck here taking care of you for your mom when an Alpha like me could be doing something _worthwhile_ instead. What? What did you say? You're gonna be a _captain_ of a _starship_ like daddy one day? _Hah_! You're an _Omega_ , you idiot! Only Alphas can become leaders! _Alphas_ rule the world! _You_ , a captain? I'll believe that ... the day you top what your old man did and save this _whole planet_ from total destruction!"

 

<<< >>>

 

Now, Jim can't stop staring at Spock instead.

"Jim," Spock says, his face even more green, not in the _I'm gonna puke my guts out on a X'chigari's fugly face_ way but the _holy crap, only Spock can_ _make green the sexiest color ever_ way. "I believe I have identified the cause of the ... recent changes in my behavior."

Still huddled against the wall farthest from Spock, Jim turns slightly towards Spock, his legs still drawn up to his chest. Spock's hands are gripping those knobby knees so hard that Spock's knuckles are bone-white. It's at such odds with Spock's blank, marble-cold expression. Spock is staring ahead at mottled stone, away from Jim's face. (And how ridiculous _is_ he that he's missing the weight of those big, brilliant, intense, deep brown eyes honed on him?)

Spock's called him by his first name yet again. That's at least four times today, the same number of times Spock's called him Jim in the last _two months_ , since the Enterprise left Earth and commenced its five-year mission. His first name sounds ... really nice coming from Spock's mouth (from those green-tinged, _luscious_ lips) with that low, resonant voice. Like it means something. Like it means something to _Spock_.

"It is something Vulcans do not speak of to outworlders." Spock continues to stare ahead at the mottled-stone wall with that blank, marble-cold expression. "Even among my people, it is discussed with tremendous reluctance."

Jim breathes through his mouth. He breathes through another spasm that radiates throughout his curled-up, trembling body from between his compressed thighs. Spock's flagrant scent suffuses every cell in his nostrils, his mouth, his throat, his lungs anyway. It's seeping into his bloodstream. Coursing through every vein and into every organ, every other cell. Coursing into his steel-stiff, throbbing cock that twitches within the almost unbearable confines of his soaked pants.

"What is it?" he manages to rasp. "I know I wasn't there when you flipped over that table in the mess the other day, so you can't blame me this time."

Spock doesn't smile or frown at his lukewarm joke. Spock pins him with those big, brilliant, intense, deep brown eyes again.

"It is pon'farr," Spock replies solemnly, as if he's just uttered a terrible curse or freed some terrible monster from its shadowy dungeon.

Jim blinks sweat trailing down from his damp hairline out of his eyes. He stares back at Spock and he has no idea how to respond other than with mystification. He's read tons of journals and publications on Vulcans and their culture and rituals – in Federation Standard English and modern Golic Vulcan - but Vulcans being the profoundly secretive people that they are, he knows there is so much more they're keeping out of sight of non-Vulcans. He's yet to come across this pon'farr thing even in his more _discreet_ , extensive research on Spock's people.

What the hell is it, that it can _scare_ Spock like this?

"It has to do with ... biology," Spock adds quietly.

"Biology?" Jim's brows furrow. "What kind of biology?"

"Vulcan biology."

Then, Jim gets it. He lets out an audible huff of air. His lips curve up in an amused smile even as another spasm causes his slick, hungry hole to clench almost painfully.

"Sex. You're talking about sex."

The green flush across Spock's cheeks intensifies. Spock averts his eyes and stares down at the floor between them.

"It is more than that, Jim. It is ... a shameful thing for my people. In the throes of pon'farr, neurochemical imbalances cause us to lose our minds, our control over ourselves. It strips our logic away from us, and what is more dreaded to a proudly logical people like mine? We become no better than a feral le'matya, coerced to choose a mate by the ancient, raging fires of the blood fever, the plak'tow." Jim sees Spock's throat work in one long, visible swallow. "A Vulcan in plak'tow, the final stage of pon'farr, will not care for his mate's well-being. He will be selfish and violent, negligent of his mate's condition. Or consent."

Jim's amused smile flees from his face. His insides shiver and whirl. The screwed-up part is, he can't tell whether it's from fear ... or from _excitement_. He's already experienced a violent, emotional Spock firsthand, when he goaded Spock into physically assaulting him and strangling him on the bridge of the Enterprise in full view of the crew after the destruction of Vulcan. (And in front of Sarek, Spock's _father_.) What would it be like to experience a Spock that is violent and emotional from _sexual lust_ instead?

And what the hell is _wrong_ with him that he _wants_ Spock to lose control like that, when Spock just said that it's what Vulcans _dread_ most?

This fucking _heat_ , messing with his mind and body, making _him_ lose control over himself.

They have to get out of this shithole and off this planet _fast_.

"Okay. So," he says with confidence he doesn't feel, with shame he hopes isn't blaring from his eyes or face. "How long have we got until your pon'farr gets that bad?"

Spock stares on at the floor. His fingers are still digging into his knees.

"Due to my specific biology, I am experiencing pon'farr later than other Vulcans do. As there are no other Vulcans with a biology like mine, I have no reliable data to determine how fast I will enter plak'tow, other than records stating that the pon'farr must be satiated within eight days for all Vulcans."

Jim bites his lower lip.

"Okay. _So_ ... do you know when your pon'farr began?"

Spock raises his eyes until they settle upon Jim's lower face. It's probably the heat messing with him, it has to be, but he can _feel_ Spock's gaze on his lips like a searing brand.

"Five days ago."

"Do you mean exactly five days ago, or _at least_ five days ago?"

Spock averts his eyes once again, aiming them back at mottled stone. Spock flattens his lips into a thin line. Jim has never seen Spock do that before. Displaying nervousness is something no Vulcan in control would ever do. The keyphrase being, _in control_.

Instead of answering his question, Spock says, "In order to prepare for pon'farr, I was telepathically bonded to another when I was seven years old. Her name was T'Pring."

Jim says nothing although he's tempted to say he's sorry. Was. Past tense. She must have died on Vulcan when it was obliterated by Nero. Spock would just say it's illogical of him to be sorry when he wasn't the cause of T'Pring's death.

"She was to be my mate when I experience my first pon'farr. If she did not invoke the kal-if-fee during the kun-ut-kal-if-fee, we would ..." Spock pauses, long enough that Jim wonders if he's imagining the _derision_ in Spock's level voice when Spock resumes speaking. "We would copulate, and the plak'tow would be purged."

"So you were already, what, _married_ when you were _seven_?" Jim asks, blinking hard. He doesn't recognize those Vulcan terms either, nor has he come across them yet in any of his research on Vulcan culture.

"Technically, no. The link that was formed between us was tenuous at best. We shielded ourselves from each other as soon as we could. The link simply ensured that I would not be left alone at the mercy of the plak'tow when my Time came."

Jim bites his lower lip a second time. He shudders and ignores yet another spasm radiating through his pulsing groin. Since T'Pring is dead, there's only one logical option for Spock as his mate in pon'farr: Uhura. Spock's girlfriend. The woman he's been with since the destruction of Vulcan. The woman he _chose_. But does she know what pon'farr entails? Does she know that Spock will become _violent_ and not care whether she consents to the sex or not?

"What if ... what if she didn't want to mate with you?"

"That is when she would invoke the kal-if-fee, the passion fight to the death between another Vulcan male and I for the right to mate with her."

Jim gapes at Spock, his eyes stark and his mouth hanging open. So if a Vulcan woman didn't want Spock but Spock still wanted her, Spock had to fight another Vulcan guy for her? To the death? To the _death_? What the fuck?

Call him a heartless bastard, but he's glad that T'Pring is dead if it means that Spock doesn't end up fighting another Vulcan guy until one of them is killed. That is some savage shit for a species that values logic and the expunging of emotions from their mind, body and soul, that values _life_.

"Jim, based on my current knowledge of the Alpha/Beta/Omega gender dynamics of Humans, you would have similar experiences to a Vulcan male in pon'farr when you are in rut."

Yeah, thank fuck he already has an expression of stupefaction on his face. In the eyes of everyone else besides Bones, he's an Alpha, not an Omega. Of _course_ Spock would presume that he's an Alpha since he's the _captain_ of the Enterprise, since Omegas are strictly prohibited from being on command track at the Academy. But the way Spock is _looking_ at him, it's -

"You are an Alpha," Spock says with that low, resonant voice. "Are you not?"

They gaze at each other across the abruptly vast and yet scant distance between them. Spock is as expressionless as ever but his eyes, _his eyes_ are telling Jim that Spock knows. Spock _knows_ now.

Jim lowers his head and presses his hot, sweat-dotted forehead to his knees. He lets out an audible huff of air, one full of self-deprecation. Then he lifts his head and looks Spock in the eye, because Spock deserves that much from his captain, his _friend_.

"No, Spock," he rasps past dry lips. "I'm an Omega."

Spock's expression doesn't change at all. The sole hint that Spock heard his reply is Spock's right hand twitching once before going motionless again, gripping a knee as if Spock's life depends on it. (Maybe it does. Maybe it really does.)

"Yeah. I lied," Jim adds, still looking Spock in the eye, his Adam's apple bobbing once.

 _Tehs-tor kanok-veh_ , he also wants to say. _Everybody lies_.

"You have been masking your scent. A cologne of Alpha pheromones," Spock says with that low, resonant, _sensual_ voice. With no judgment. "You have been suppressing your heats."

"Yep." Jim knows his voice is anything but casual. "But guess what?"

Spock tilts his head (in that adorable way that Jim will never, ever point out for his own sanity).

"I didn't get my heat suppressant shot this year. I'm in heat. And we're trapped here," Jim says, and then presses his forehead to his knees once more, his shoulders shaking, unable to tell if the shaking is from hysterical laughter or soundless sobs.

 

<<< >>>

 

Spock is referring to Uhura by her rank and surname again instead of her first name in public. No one else seems to notice the change except Jim. No one else seems to notice that _Jim_ has changed since he and Spock were rescued by Bones, Sulu and a security team from that shithole planet. (Like its shit-eating people, he isn't being metaphorical about that either. Ugh.)

"So it's 'Lieutenant Uhura' again, huh?" he says to Spock with an amused smirk, with a detached flippancy that he doesn't feel as they walk from the turbolift to the mess for breakfast before their shift on the bridge.

Nine days have passed since his heat and Spock's pon'farr were satiated. Nine days, in which he and Spock have returned to being Captain and Commander, to being just two Starfleet officers on board the coolest, prettiest, greatest starship in the entire universe. Just two friends who have an utterly platonic friendship where Jim most certainly does _not_ yearn after Spock in any way, more than ever.

It's a good thing that Bones isn't here with them. Bones would probably say something along the lines of, _Jim, you really,_ really _suck at this lying business when it comes to the green-blooded hobgoblin, you know that_?

It's a good thing, too, that Spock has ethics and doesn't go around telepathically invading people's minds to read their thoughts without their permission. Spock raises one of those highly angular eyebrows at him.

"That is her rank, is it not?" Spock replies, not missing a stride as they approach the wide, doorless entrance of the mess.

Jim refrains from rolling his eyes and merely says, "Yep." Good thing, too, that he didn't make some wisecrack about role-playing and _power-play_ in Spock's bedroom antics. Would Spock even find any of that _fascinating_? Or foul?

Spock tilts his head (in that adorable way that now makes Jim question his sanity) and says nothing more. Spock's probably wondering how he ended up with such a peculiar, _illogical_ Human for a captain.

Spock probably doesn't think at all about what happened in that twelve-foot-long solitary cell. About their uniforms ripping under their frenzied, careless, clawing hands. About Jim rolling onto his back on the heap of their tattered uniforms, spreading his quavering thighs and hauling up his legs for Spock. About Spock, _Spock_ and that long, hot, thick, _lovely_ , double-ridged, green-tinged _cock_ between those lean, _powerful_ thighs.

It turns out that Vulcan cocks don't have knots like Alpha Human ones have. It turns out that a Vulcan cock can swell its _whole length_ at its possessor's will. And during pon'farr, a Vulcan can stay hard for _days_ and come and come and _come_ and not falter one bit at fucking a hungry, _greedy_ Omega hole until its mindless possessor is writhing and screaming from the pure pleasure.

And lovesick fool that he is, terrified of losing even Spock's friendship, he'd murmured to Spock when they materialized on the Enterprise's transporter pad with Bones, Sulu and their entire security team accounted for, _don't worry, things between us haven't changed, we're still just like we were before_.

Spock, shirtless and straight-backed and so damn alluring even in the garish, white light of the transporter room, had lowered his eyes and nodded and replied, _yes, Captain_.

Then, Uhura had appeared, and Jim silently watched Spock walk away from him, walk to her to receive an embrace from her. (As if he no longer existed.)

No, no, Jim does _not_ yearn after Spock in any way at all, more and _more_ than ever. Jim does not find their return to an utterly platonic friendship - where he can never touch and taste and _feel_ Spock again, where he has to watch Spock go to another Human who Spock loves, not him, _not him_ \- to be an absolute hell _at all_. He doesn't.

At least he has the memories. At least he has those.

"Hey, your girlfriend's calling for you," he says casually, nodding his head at Uhura who's sitting alone several tables away and watching them with an indecipherable expression. He resists the urge to place a hand on Spock's back to give Spock a push in her direction. He has no right to do that. (Even after he's had Spock _inside_ him. Even after Spock made him come and come and _come_ again, clasping the back of his head, plowing into his limp, overwhelmed body that finally felt _right_ , that finally felt _complete_.)

He sees Spock turning towards him, those green-tinged, luscious lips parting in the beginnings of a response. He gives Spock a tight-lipped smile and he turns as well, away from Spock, walking (running) towards Bones who's observing them from a table in one corner of the mess. He ignores Bones' pointed glance at him. He steals a ribbon of bacon from Bones' bowl of salad and ignores Bones' sputtering to get his own dang food. He ignores the cold, blistering fact that the Vulcan he's stupid-crazy-mad in love with is sitting with a Human who isn't him, a Beta Human who Spock will likely bond with, likely _marry_ in the future despite what happened over nine days ago.

Absolute hell. An absolute hell of his own making.

Later in his quarters, he's curled up on his side in bed in the semi-darkness and he's still feeling the phantom aches of Spock's fingers gripping his hips, of Spock thrusting inside him. He's staring at the door to the bathroom he shares with Spock. Spock is just two doors away in his own quarters, probably sound asleep and not thinking of Jim at all.

 _Istau nash-veh ta nam-tor du la_ , he thinks, imagining an alternate reality where Spock would hear those words, where Spock _wants_ the delicate bond that links their minds (that Jim can't feel anymore, not like he did during his heat and Spock's pon'farr, as if it no longer exists). _I wish you were here_.

 _Rok-tor nash-veh ta shetau etek os teretuhr_ , he thinks next, imagining an alternate reality where Spock loves him in return and always. _I hope that we grow old together_.

And then, he's squeezing his eyes shut and curling into himself and he's thinking, _stupid, stupid, stupid_. He's thinking, _stop it, stop being so ridiculous, stop being such a fucking sleazebag, longing for someone else's beloved_. Who does that? What kind of person _does_ that?

A disgusting slut, that's who. Disgusting Omega slut. That's what he is.

That's what _Spock_ knows he is, now. It's no wonder that, for the first time, Spock declined his offer of a game of chess three days ago. No wonder at all.

 

<<< >>>

 

He's burning up. He's so hot inside and he hurts and he's on fire, he's burning up. He's dying, he's _dying_.

"Jim."

He's curled up on his side on the floor, facing the wall. He's trembling from head to toes and his breaths are see-sawing out of his flame-filled lungs and his lower body is a molten, slick-seethed mass of _need_.

"Kal'uh tu nash-veh gol-tor." _Let me help_.

He feels a hand brushing his shoulder and it scalds him, _it scalds him_. He cries out and wriggles away until he collides into chilly stone. He wedges himself into a ball in a corner of the cell. He glances up and his vision is stinging and swimming but even with squinted eyes, he sees Spock standing nearby, gazing down at him with wide, worried ones. He … he should be finding it _weird_ that Spock's eyes are showing such obvious _emotion_. Shouldn't he?

"No, Spock, please – don't touch me. I can't – I can't _control_ myself," Jim whispers harshly.

He can't control himself but he knows _Spock_ can. He knows Spock is so much stronger than he is. Spock may be in pon'farr but he's still so _calm_ and _quiet_ and Spock will make sure they're all right. Spock will make everything all right.

"Jim. _Jim_." Spock sits down on the floor again, although he's nearer now, smelling so damn _tasty_. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

Jim presses his hands over his face and groans into his damp palms. Goddamnit, his erect cock is aching so bad now. His empty and slick-gushing hole, even worse, even more painful. He's seriously considering the act of shoving three fingers to the knuckles into his hole, of fucking himself with them and he doesn't give a damn that Spock's right there, that Spock will _hear_ him even if Spock averts his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time he's relieved himself during a heat that way.

What else can he do to alleviate the torment? It's not like Spock will do it for him. Spock is _straight_. Spock is most likely persevering until they're rescued, until he can be with Uhura with whom he'll _want_ to mate, to _bond_. Spock said his pon'farr started five days ago, which means Spock still has three days to deal with it. _He_ , on the other hand, is in very deep shit.

"There's nothing you can do," he rasps after lowering his hands, gazing at Spock's green-flushed, familiar, handsome face. "I just … have to wait it out. Let it burn out on its own."

"Will this cause you more pain?"

Spock is staring at him once more. Staring at him with those big, brilliant, intense, _beautiful_ deep brown eyes that harbor such concern for him. Concern that he doesn't deserve.

Jim lowers his head and presses quivering hands over his face. He doesn't reply Spock, but that is an answer in itself.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim finds Spock in the mess with a bowl of plomeek soup and a plate of krei'la.

"How's the food?" he asks Spock nonchalantly as he sits opposite Spock with a tray of his own breakfast: a few pieces of buttered toast and parish-yu-murlar. Or as Humans would call it, the Vulcan version of scrambled eggs with the whites and yolks beaten together and cooked firm and soft. It's freaking delicious and he loves it (although not as much as he does the pointy-eared genius in front of him).

Spock's face is expressionless when Spock lifts his head to look at Jim.

"There were no Vulcan meals programmed into the replicators when the Enterprise embarked from Earth seventeen days ago."

Spock's face is expressionless but his deep brown eyes, framed by long, lush lashes, are anything but.

Jim takes his sweet time to munch on a piece of toast before responding. It had taken him hours just to program in the plomeek soup and yarmok, a salad of raw, leafy, green vegetables with a dressing that tastes like balsamic vinaigrette and yet is a lurid purple color. (It's fabulous and he loves it too.) Once he was on a roll, it was easy to program in ameelah and the flat, bread-like krei'la and the squash/mashed potato-like casserole, balk'ra and the cream-of-spinach-like barkaya marak and Hivas milkshake (also a fabulous purple) and of course, le-sum-krim. He avoided any food that included meat. Spock doesn't eat meat.

"I took care of that problem," he says, also nonchalantly. "I managed to program in about ten Vulcan foods so far. I'll add more later."

Spock says nothing with his mouth. Spock says many things with his crinkled, gracious eyes. Spock must surely have missed many of these Vulcan meals since the destruction of his home planet.

"So." Jim spoons some parish-yu-murlar into his mouth. "How's the food?"

"Rom. Th'i-oxalra, Jim."

He understands what Spock said. He feels the soothing warmth of those murmured Vulcan words spread throughout his chest like the rays of dawn, like sunshine through his window. He smiles like an ecstatic dumbass inside.

On the outside, however, he affixes an expression of puzzlement on his face. He glances at Spock and asks, "That's Vulcan, right? What does it mean?"

"It is good," Spock replies, gazing back at him. "Thank you, Jim. I appreciate it."

Jim allows a flash of that ecstatic smile inside him to emerge on the outside.

"You are welcome, Spock."

Spock's eyes linger on him as he resumes eating his scrambled eggs with gusto, and because he's looking down at the appetizingly yellow eggs, he doesn't see the flash of a golden sun in Spock's eyes. He doesn't see Spock's right hand on the table. He doesn't see all its fingers except its index and middle fingers fold in. He doesn't see them twitch once, as if Spock has to hold them back from reaching for Jim's fingers on the table.

Like learning an ancient, alien language from scratch, like programming a Vulcan cookbook's worth of meals into the Enterprise's replicators, like sunlight-warm eyes and a restrained ozh'esta, there are many, many other ways for both Human and Vulcan to say _I love thee_ when the words can't be uttered.

 

<<< >>>

 

Spock has been kneeling on the floor for what seems like hours. Spock's eyes are shut, but his forehead is creased and his eyebrows are drawn together in a frown.

The fact that Jim can _see_ Spock frowning is enough reason to worry about his friend. Spock is starting to lose more control over his face, over his body despite meditation, and _he_ , well … maybe some of that legendary James Tiberius Kirk-luck has finally kicked into gear, because he can breathe easier, _think_ easier. He knows this is just a fleeting reprieve in his inexorable heat, but still. He hasn't shoved any fingers into his slick-soaked pants and hole so far. He can relax his tense arms and legs (although he isn't going to straighten his legs out, not unless he wants Spock to see his tenacious erection tenting his pants and god, that would be _embarrassing_ ) and slump against the wall in a restful stupor. He can hold out. He can. He just has to wait long enough for his crew to pinpoint his and Spock's location and get them the hell out of here. He can _do_ this.

"Jim," Spock says with that low, resonant voice gone even lower, even more sensual.

Spock's eyes are open once more. Spock is still frowning. Spock's hands – those exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands – are balled up into fists on Spock's thighs. Spock's arms are crossed at the wrists, over his groin.

"Jim, it may be … my fault that we are in this predicament."

The fact that Spock has to pause while speaking to control his breathing is just more reason for Jim to worry about Spock.

"What do you mean?"

"Pon'farr can be ... transferred to others through a telepathic bond. It is ... possible that my pon'farr initiated your heat."

Jim blinks. Then blinks again. What? Spock's pon'farr _jumpstarted_ his heat? Is that … is that really possible? Spock isn't an Alpha with the rut pheromones necessary to do that. Spock is only half-Human, and since Vulcan traits are dominant, Alpha/Beta/Omega Human gender dynamics don't affect his physiology. But as Spock said, there is no other Vulcan like him. There's no reliable data, no precedent to determine how his body may affect an Alpha's rut or an Omega's heat. What if Spock in pon'farr _is_ the equivalent of an Alpha in rut? What if Spock's scent during pon'farr _is_ the equivalent of an Alpha's rut pheromones? What if -

"Wait." Jim blinks a third time. He sits straighter against the wall, his quivering hands pressed flat on the cool rock floor. "Wait, you … you said it can be transferred through a _bond_."

"Yes."

Jim stares at Spock with wide eyes of astonishment. Spock stares back at Jim, his forehead still creased.

"We -" Jim swallows hard. Squirms for an instant, pulling his legs tight to his torso again and ignoring his stubborn erection. "We have a _bond_? A telepathic bond?"

Spock lowers his eyes for a second, shuttering them from Jim. Then, Spock is looking him in the eye again as he replies, "Yes, Jim. I believe ... the bond may have formed when we were in Engineering after you … when our hands ..."

Jim sees Spock's lips flatten into that nervous, thin line again. Spock is trying, really trying to not break their eye contact and he is trying just as much, gazing at Spock, gazing at this amazing, noble, _loyal_ Vulcan who had stayed with him that fateful day to his last breath, who had tried so much to comfort him with a hand molding to his, separated only by transparent aluminum.

 _I want you to know why I couldn't let you die_ , he'd said to Spock across that scant yet impassible distance, _why I went back for you_.

And Spock, with those precious tears rolling down from those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes, had said, _because you are my friend_.

Spock had been right. Spock had been right and yet wrong because _friend_ was so infinitesimal a word to encapsulate why he couldn't let Spock die, why he could _never_ let Spock die.

 _Fai'ei ashau nash-veh du_ , he'd yearned to say to the most important person in his existence, before it was too late. _Ashau nash-veh du_.

 _Because I love you. I love you_.

Over ten months since his death and resurrection with Khan's superhuman blood, he still yearns to say those words to Spock. But he can't. He can never say them, not when Spock loves and is in love with someone else, someone who isn't him. It wouldn't be fair to Spock. It wouldn't be fair to Uhura. It wouldn't be fair to himself (no matter how much it hurts, it hurts).

"And you're sure … you're _sure_ that we have this bond?" he says instead, reining in from his voice every scrap of hope, of _joy_ at the knowledge that he and Spock are _bonded_ in some way.

"Yes, I am certain. As Humans are, in general, psi-null, you would very likely not notice its presence even if I am not shielding." A pause, and then Spock murmurs, "I am sorry, Jim."

Jim doesn't know what precisely Spock is apologizing for. Is Spock apologizing for shielding himself from the bond? Is Spock apologizing for the bond itself? Is Spock apologizing for Jim being psi-null and therefore unable to telepathically connect to him like another Vulcan could?

Either way, the cold, blistering fact is, Spock is deliberately blocking the bond on his side, and it can mean only one thing: Spock doesn't want this bond with Jim. Spock is _sorry_ that this bond even exists between them, imposed onto Spock somehow by his death (that wasn't a death, not forever). Spock must surely want the bond with Uhura instead of him. Maybe they already do have a bond, and this bond with him is just some … aberration. Some disgusting thing. Like him.

"What, no decimal point, Spock?" he jokes, even as something fragile in the left side of his chest cracks and bleeds.

Spock shuts his eyes at last. Spock dips his head in concentration, then says, "The chances of you telepathically communicating with me through the bond as a naturally psi-enabled being is capable of is 0.523%."

With Spock's eyes shut like they are, Jim allows his features to contort with misery, just for a few seconds. Wow, he'd expected his chances for a fulfilling telepathic bond to Spock to be low. He hadn't expected them to be next to _zero_.

What the hell is he thinking, anyway? Even if, somehow, he and Spock turn out to be the most compatible, _perfect_ telepathic couple in the universe (in _any_ universe), _he isn't the one Spock wants and loves_. End-fucking-of.

"So, pon'farr," he says so very casually, his hands fisted on the floor at his sides. "It's just like my heat, right?"

Once more, Spock opens his eyes and gazes at him. The frown Spock has is now one of perplexity.

"I mean," Jim says as casually, "you gotta mate within eight days, but if you don't, it'll just burn itself out. Right?"

The frown wilts off Spock's face to be replaced with an expression that is even more unexpected to Jim: sorrow.

"No, my friend," Spock says (and just how _ridiculous_ is Jim, that those two words can console him so much?). "I will burn out."

It takes Jim a _very_ long time to comprehend what Spock said in any way. When those four words register for Jim, his insides go ice-cold and churn and _churn_ with a terror he had not felt even when he was dying from radiation poisoning.

"What?" he gasps, frozen and shivering in place, his hands and feet numb. "What do you mean?"

"If I do not mate before the eight days of pon'farr are over, I will die."

How Spock can just _say_ that so calmly and quietly is beyond Jim's understanding.

"What do you mean, _you'll_ _die_?"

"If I do not mate, the constant surges of adrenaline and cortisol of the plak'tow will eventually kill me," Spock says so patiently and calmly and _quietly_. "Even medicine and meditation cannot stop it."

Something inside Jim is boiling, going angry red and sizzling, going blinding gold and vibrating, boiling and _boiling_.

"You're already in plak'tow, aren't you?" he asks with a gravelly voice. "You've been meditating and it's … it's not working. Is it?"

Spock says nothing with his mouth. Spock says many things with his heavy-lidded, resigned eyes.

 _Tev-tor kanok-veh_ , they murmur to Jim. _Everybody dies_.

 _Kaiidth_ , they whisper with simple conviction. _What is, is_.

"No," Jim growls in return, his eyes round and seeing angry red, his bared teeth blinding as gold and vibrating while he grits them. "No. I won't let you die. _I won't allow it_."

Spock's big, brilliant, intense, beautiful, _beautiful_ deep brown eyes go wide.

"Jim," Spock rasps, as if his name means _something_ to Spock, as if it means the universe to him (and it can't be, it can't).

Jim propels himself away from the wall behind him with both hands. He propels himself towards Spock whose eyes go round, round and round and rounder.

And just like that, the scant yet impassible distance between them is now neither.

 

<<< >>>

 

The observation deck, a long, narrow chamber with massive windows, began its existence as an austere, carpeted space with no furniture whatsoever in it. It was meant to be a public space to idle in for a while, to gaze out at the black-velvet star-studded infinity of space and appreciate its awe-inspiring, spine-tingling sublimity. Sulu, the devoted aficionado of botany that he is, had worked with some engineers to plant in it a verdant, multi-layered garden of flourishing, iridescent flowers from a multitude of planets including Earth. Since its completion, the observation deck has become a popular rendezvous for those needing some relaxation or solitude among the blossoms.

For Jim, it is a place to see the stars streak by, when he wants to be alone with his ship and listen to her purr with ease, with dilithium-powered energy beneath his feet. Most times, he finds the observation deck empty when he goes there in the middle of the ship's night, when he can't sleep, when he's thinking too much about the only Vulcan on his ship. Sometimes, however, the observation deck isn't empty when he goes there.

Sometimes, he catches the very person he's thinking too much about there, staring out of one of those massive windows with one exquisite, adept, long-fingered hand gripping the other against a firm lower back. Sometimes he catches himself almost walking up to that very person, to stand at the Vulcan's side and watch the stars with him.

If he had, he might have asked, _what are you thinking about_?

If he lived in a reality where Spock shared precious bits and pieces of his mysterious past, Spock might have replied, _I am thinking about the meteor that I saw streaking across the darkness of night in Marin County. I am thinking about the meteor becoming a fireball, exceptionally bright and explosive and golden_.

If he lived in a reality where Spock loved him in return and always, Spock might have also replied, _I am thinking about you, Jim_.

But he doesn't live in such a reality. The reality he lives in is one where, sometimes, he catches Spock with someone else. (Someone who isn't him, never him.) Inadvertent as it is, he would get a glimpse of them standing face to face among the blossoms, gazing into each other's eyes as if the rest of the universe doesn't exist. (As if he no longer exists, as if he never has.)

Sometimes he pivots around and runs (and runs). Sometimes he's frozen in place, unable to move as the other person extends a hand with its index and middle fingers straightened, as the Vulcan he's thinking, _dreaming_ about too much extends those exquisite, adept, long fingers the same way and permits them to be stroked from nail to knuckle.

He wants to know what that touch means. He wants to know what that touch feels like. He wants to know what those exquisite, adept, long fingers feel like upon his own.

This time, there is a leafy bush that camouflages Jim from sight. This time, the Vulcan he thinks and dreams about so much, too much is standing in front of one of those massive windows with one exquisite, adept, long-fingered hand gripping the other against a firm lower back. Jim can't see Spock's face. Spock's back is turned towards him. Spock is in shadows, as is the long-haired, dark-skinned, gorgeous woman who stands at Spock's side.

He remains long enough to see her hand reach for Spock's. He remains long enough for his masochistic brain to conjure up all the ways they will be touching each other soon, and then he pivots around and runs and _runs_ and doesn't look back.

But if he had, if he had remained, he would have seen Spock's hands in fists against a firm lower back. He would have seen Uhura's hand hesitate and then drop back to her side. He would have seen the scant yet impassible distance between them, the glistening of Uhura's large, silently imploring eyes aimed at stars that do not see or hear her.

He would have heard Spock say to her, "Nam-tor zherka na'nash-veh u'akanik - nam-tor u'ek'talsu." _Emotions are alien to me - I am a scientist_.

He would have heard Uhura say in return, "But I know you _feel_ , Spock. I looked into your eyes when you chose to hunt down Khan. I looked into your eyes when you were ready to deliver the killing blow, when you stopped only because it would save Kirk."

Spock's hands are taut fists against his lower back. Spock stares out the window at the stars streaking by. Spock is thinking about a meteor he saw when he was an instructor at the Academy in Marin County, a shooting star that ignited his universe for one eternal second in time. He is thinking about its golden, explosive and exceptional brightness. He is thinking about a golden, explosive and exceptionally bright Human, and he says nothing.

Spock says nothing more, because Vulcans, as that golden, explosive and exceptionally bright Human would say, really do suck at lying.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim almost _dies_ from the physical contact of his slick-wet, aching crotch upon Spock's sturdy lap.

"Jim!"

Already panting, he drags his frayed gold tunic up his heaving torso and over his head with both hands. He hurls it to the floor behind him and grabs the hem of the black t-shirt still clinging to his perspiring body. He would have yanked it over his head too, if not for Spock's hands suddenly seizing handfuls of his t-shirt, yanking it down and out of his fingers.

"Jim. _Jim_ , what are you _doing_?"

He's never heard Spock's voice go so low, so _husky_ before. Spock's voice sounds like it's being hauled across molten coals. Spock's spicy, wood-like scent is extraordinary and enveloping him and he is drowning in it. Spock is staring up at him with eyes so round that he can see the whites around those deep brown irises. The green flush of Spock's face is so dark and _hot_ that Jim wants to cup Spock's cheeks with his hands, wants to clash his lips to Spock's luscious, _luscious_ ones and slide his tongue into Spock's volcanic mouth and _suck_ on Spock's versed tongue while he rubs his chest against Spock's broad, hirsute one, while he spreads his thighs and lines Spock's cock up with his hole and _rams down_ -

"Jim, _please_ , you must stop."

Jim blinks sweat out of his eyes. He's panting and he's burning up and he's sitting on Spock's lap with his trembling thighs framing Spock's narrow hips and Spock is still yanking down his t-shirt, keeping his upper body clothed. Spock is still dressed in his blue tunic, black t-shirt, pants and boots, and Jim's hands are clutching Spock's forearms, wrinkling impeccable blue.

Spock's face is so close. Spock is _so close_. All he has to do to cross the remaining distance between them is to surge forward and crash his mouth into Spock's.

"Look, it's _perfect_ , don't you see?" he gasps, tightening his grip on Spock's forearms. "If you -" - _love me_ \- "fuck me, the plak'tow will be purged and the pon'farr will end. My heat, too."

Something in the left side of Jim's chest cracks and bleeds and _bleeds_ when Spock squeezes those intense, deep brown eyes shut and turns his head away from Jim.

"I … I cannot," Spock says with that low, resonant, husky voice. "Not like th– ... no. I cannot."

Jim glares down at Spock, his teeth gritted so hard that his lower jaw throbs. He glares with eyes going blurry and stinging. His hands constrict even more on Spock's forearms but Spock doesn't react to it. Spock merely shakes his head from side to side, an unambiguous _no_.

Spock would rather wait for Uhura and risk dying than fuck him. Spock would rather die than fuck him. That's how damn _disgusting_ he is to Spock. Spock would rather _die_.

 _It's not me you'll ever want_ , that broken, tortured thing in the left side of Jim's chest says for its broken, tortured possessor. _Not me, I know_.

"Well, too fucking _bad_ , Spock," Jim snarls, wrenching his t-shirt out of Spock's grip and bunching the black material in his own quivering hands. "I'm not accepting that, not when the price is that you _die_!"

"Jim, you are – you are not in your right mind and you are incapable of making critical decisions -"

" _Wrong_. I know exactly what's going on and I know _exactly_ what I want, Spock!" Jim seizes Spock's blue tunic at the collar with both hands and shakes Spock as hard as he can. "I want you to _live_ , and if that means you have to fuck me as hard as you can, even if I get hurt, _I want that_. I am giving explicit permission. I am giving my consent, Spock. Do you hear me? _I am giving my consent_!"

Spock is staring at him once more, those big, brilliant, _devastated_ eyes pinning him like a butterfly to a board.

" _Jim_ , I cannot do this to you when you do not -"

" _I don't care_ , Spock! Hate me all you want after this! Report me and kick me off the Enterprise if you want! Charge me with sexual assault if you have to! But _I am going to do everything I can to SAVE YOU_!"

Jim's ferocious bellow echoes in the confines of their cell. Jim's jagged breaths are strident to his own ears as he staggers up onto wobbly legs and yanks off his t-shirt and hurls it on the floor on his gold tunic. He can hear Spock talking again, frantic protests that fall on Jim's deaf ears. He kicks off his boots and socks. Wrenches his soaked pants and boxer-briefs down his slick-wet legs, and Spock lets out a stuttering gasp as his hard, reddened cock is freed and slaps against his flat belly.

 _I'm sorry, Uhura_ , Jim thinks. _I'm sorry_.

When he glances at Spock, he sees that Spock has swiveled his head away again. Spock's eyes are scrunched shut. Spock is breathing roughly through his nose, those green-tinged, luscious lips compressed so thinly that they can't be seen. Spock's arms are crossed over his groin. Spock's hands are white-knuckled fists. Spock's entire body is rigid as stone, sitting upright with those long, lean, _powerful_ legs straightened out.

 _I'm sorry, Spock_ , Jim thinks, never hating himself for being the disgusting Omega slut that he is more than he does right now. _I'm so sorry_.

Spock gasps another time, louder, and jerks bodily when a naked Jim goes down on his knees and straddles Spock's muscle-bound thighs. He bats away Spock's arms. Lunges his shaking hands at Spock's groin. He gasps as well the instant his hands cup Spock's cock over the straining, black fabric of Spock's pants. Oh fuck, Spock is _hard_ , hard and _huge_ and already seeping pre-come through his pants. Spock's been _hiding_ his erection from Jim all this time.

Spock is reduced to searing, gasping breaths as Jim unzips Spock's pants and draws out Spock's erection into view. Jim is panting all over again, clasping Spock's long, hard, thick, _glorious_ cock with both hands, careful with it as he would a treasure of limitless value. It looks a lot like his own, apart from its green flush and its double-ridged head that's oozing copious amounts of pearl-white pre-come. What does Spock _taste_ like?

Jim scoops up a hefty dollop of Spock's pre-come that's dripping down the side and brings the viscous fluid to his parted lips. He thrusts out his tongue and shuts his eyes and licks the pre-come off his fingers and again, Spock gasps emphatically. His own erect cock twitches hard against his belly. His hungry, aching hole gushes out more slick that trickles down his inner thighs. _Mmm_ , god, Spock tastes really, really _good_. Hot and zesty and so _sweet_. Better than that of any Alpha in rut could ever be. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, sucks them dry of all of Spock's delicious pre-come by swirling his tongue around them -

Without warning, he's toppled over onto his back on his discarded clothes on the floor. Spock looms over him between his spread legs, with one hand cupping the back of his head, holding his head off the cool rock floor. Spock's hand is as hot as a furnace. Spock's space-black bangs are in a disarray over Spock's forehead. Spock's chest is heaving with hoarse breaths. Spock is staring down at him with those big, brilliant, _intense_ eyes, staring as Spock grasps the collars of his blue tunic and black t-shirt with his free hand and then _rips them apart_ and off his green-flushed, sinewy, _seductive_ body without a blink or grunt of any effort.

It's one of the sexiest things Jim has ever witnessed.

It's also the moment Jim realizes just how _strong_ Spock is compared to him (or any other Human), how _hard_ that long, thick, _lovely_ , double-ridged cock is going to fill and fuck his Omega hole.

It's the moment Jim realizes that although Spock is only going to fuck him because of pon'farr and not because of any mutual _feelings_ , he doesn't care. He doesn't care what the consequences are, as long as he can see and taste and _touch_ Spock like this and remember every crystal-clear second in real time and in memory, every sensation made hyper-real and magnified of Spock over him, around him and inside him, _inside him_.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim knows that things are serious when Bones goes to his office's shut door and switches on the privacy lock.

"It's that bad, huh?" Jim asks nonchalantly as Bones chooses to sit next to him on the plush couch facing Bones' desk instead of returning to the chair behind said desk.

Bones doesn't smile. Bones' burly arms are crossed over his chest, stretching his blue tunic over equally burly pecs. Bones has his most stern scowl on, the one that Bones wears only when Jim has _really_ fucked up somewhere, somehow. The lackadaisical smile that Jim's pasted on his face dims, then vanishes.

Yeah, okay, so _maybe_ he fucked up a _little_ by not informing Bones about the vomiting for the past week or so. But come on, it was just _vomiting_! Just him throwing up once a day, in the morning or afternoon, and all hunky-dory again afterward. It didn't affect him otherwise, so what's the big deal? It was probably just _stress_. (Stress from boring, boring, _boring_ star-mapping, stress from sitting in his seat on the bridge for hours on end, stress from signing all those damn PADDs the yeoman keeps handing him, _stress from not turning around to stare at Spock while his_ girlfriend _is right there on the bridge with them because he can still_ feel _Spock inside him when he_ thinks _about it_. Yes, stress. Lots of stress.)

Stupid Spock, telling Bones about him vomiting in the first place and making Bones give him a thorough examination in sickbay. He should have given Spock a direct order to not do that when Spock barged into their shared bathroom during one of the more, uh, _vigorous_ bouts of puking. He _said_ he was okay! Spock even saw him stand up and wash his mouth out at the sink and then smile just fine!

Stupid Spock.

Stupid, stiff-necked, sneaky, secretive, sincere, sassy, scintillating, _stupendous_ Spock.

Why can't he stop thinking and dreaming about Spock? Why is _he_ so stupid?

Maybe he should get a hypo for that. Bones is sure to have _something_ to make his ruthless, _racy_ wet dreams of Spock making love to him go away. No, wait. No. No. It was fucking. _Fucking_ , not making love. Stupid brain, constantly confusing the two now -

"Jim," Bones says, and ooh boy, Bones sounds as pissed off as he looks.

Yeah, okay, _okay_ , so maybe he should have mentioned the _headaches_ too (and the _void_ in the back of his skull, like something _vital_ has gone missing, like half of him is _gone_ ). And the body aches, especially in his lower belly and across his lower back. And the shift in his diet from Human food to just Vulcan food. He doesn't _know_ why, okay, he just likes Vulcan food now while everything else tastes _horrible_ and makes him want to puke even more -

"You didn't tell me everything that happened on that godforsaken planet."

Jim blinks at Bones. Huh? Shit planet and its shit-eating people and their shitty imprisonment of him and Spock happened two months ago! What does that have to do with him puking and having all kinds of aches _now_?

"What? What are you talking about, Bonesy?"

Using his nickname for the good doctor does nothing to lessen Bones' scowl. If anything, Bones' scowl sharpens until Jim can almost feel it jabbing him like one of Bones' very scary hypos.

"Don't play dumb with me. You do _not_ play dumb with me. Not this time."

Jim stares at Bones' face with what he hopes is an aloof expression. (Think like Spock, think like Spock, think and _look_ like Spock.) He keeps his hands loose on his lap. It wouldn't do for Bones to see him agitated now.

He'd managed to escape Bones' medical scrutiny after he and Spock were rescued, letting Bones do a basic scan on him and miraculously passing with nothing more than gruff comments on his high endorphin and oxytocin levels and grumblings about dehydration and him 'having the foolhardy habit of goading aliens into beating him up for no good reason'. Spock was given the same treatment, receiving his own gruff comments from Bones about slightly elevated levels of adrenaline and cortisol and even higher levels of endorphins. (Interestingly, Bones didn't make a single comment on the scratches on Spock's shoulders and back. The scratches Jim had made with his clawing fingers as Spock thrust that lovely, _lovely_ double-ridged cock in and out of his insatiable hole.)

Well, hey, considering how many times he and Spock fucked in that cell, Jim's astounded his blood cells hadn't been altogether replaced with endorphins and oxytocin. He was goddamn _high_ as his ship at full warp when Bones and Sulu and the security team found them (with their pants on, thank god, icky as it was for him).

"Come on, Bones. Just _tell_ me what's wrong with me, all right?"

Jim rolls his eyes.

Bones continues to scowl at him. Bones blows a gusty breath of exasperation out his nose.

"Jim," Bones says, somber in a way Jim's never heard before. "You're pregnant."

Jim gapes at Bones whose expression and pose do not change at all. Jim gapes and gapes at him and then, throwing his head back, Jim guffaws, falling back against the couch.

"Oh man," Jim gasps when he gets his breath back, pointing a forefinger at Bones. "That was a _good_ one, Bones. You really had me going there with the _face_ and the crossed arms and all."

Bones doesn't laugh. Bones doesn't smile. Bones' scowl has morphed into an expression that slays Jim's laughter to an apprehensive silence.

"You … you're _joking_ , right?"

"No, Jim," Bones replies wearily, and now Jim has identified Bones' expression: sympathy. "I'm not joking. You're pregnant. Have been for two months."

Jim slowly sits upright. He still has a smile on his face, a parody of one that isn't quite certain whether to still hang around or twist into something else completely.

"But that's," Jim stammers, "that's just – that's -"

"Impossible? Because Spock's a half-breed who's supposed to be infertile?" Bones snorts. "Clearly he _isn't_."

Jim's face goes slack and his blue eyes widen as his stunned brain processes what Bones just said. Wait … now just _wait_ a minute. He's … he's _pregnant_? Pregnant with … _Spock's_ baby?

"Oh fuck," he says, frozen in place, his hands and feet numb, his lower jaw sagging.

"Jim," Bones says, uncrossing his arms.

"Oh fuck," Jim says, staring forward with round, sightless eyes.

" _Jim_ , did you and _Spock_ have sex on that planet?"

"Oh fuck," Jim says.

"I'm just assuming here, but _please_ tell me it was Spock and not one of those five-eyed, hunched-back, _gross_ aliens!"

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," Jim says, feeling dizzy, feeling sick, feeling _terrified_.

"Jim. _Jim_. Jesus, kid, you're just - here, sit back. Come on now. Sit back before you fall over and hurt yourself."

He feels benevolent hands upon his shoulders, rearranging him so that he's sprawled against the back of the couch with his head resting on the cushioned top. He stares up at the white ceiling. He's hugging himself with his forearms over his midriff, his hands clutching his elbows. He sucks in a ragged breath. Then another.

He feels a hand ruffling his hair. He shuts his eyes and swallows hard.

"What happened on that planet?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Jim rasps, "I went into heat."

Bones' hand on his head goes stationary.

"God _damnit_ ," Bones mutters to himself, and Jim snaps his eyes open and turns his head to see Bones with another new expression: guilt.

"No, Bones. This is _not_ your fault -"

"I forgot the shot, didn't I? I forgot the _shot_ , Jim." Bones gazes down at the carpeted floor and shakes his head. "I was already treating you for the radiation poisoning. I should have remembered. Just one shot, and it would have ensured no heats for you _and_ contraceptive protection for another _year_ -"

" _Bones_."

Jim reaches out to clasp his old friend's thigh.

"You saved my life, Leo," Jim says resolutely, gazing at Bones' clean-cut profile. "You brought me back from the _dead_. I can never repay you enough for that." Jim swallows hard a second time. "And I should have come to you for the shot when I got back on the ship, but I just … I didn't wanna think about it. I just wanted to … forget."

 _Liar_ , that dazed, disbelieving thing in the left side of his chest accuses. _You remember_ everything, _everything_.

Jim ignores it (like he's ignored many things since being rescued from the X'chigari).

"It was that bad, huh?" Bones murmurs.

 _No_ , that still dazed, disbelieving thing in the left side of Jim's chest whispers. _It was so_ good _, so good_.

"Depends on your definition of bad, I guess."

Bones smiles wryly at him, laying a large hand on top of his.

"So. It _is_ the green-blooded hobgoblin's, then?"

His throat abruptly the size of a pin-hole, Jim can only nod and shut his eyes again. Bones' hand gives his a supportive squeeze.

"Do I give my congratulations? Or condolences?"

Jim lets out an audible huff of air, one of uncertainty and yet also of … anticipation. He's … pregnant. Holy shit on a Ferengi's jellied gree-worm, _he's pregnant_. With _Spock's baby_. What were the chances of _that_ happening to him? And what is he, the captain of the Enterprise, going to _do_ about it?

"I'll let you know when I figure it out myself," he murmurs, squeezing Bones' hand back.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim's breaths are see-sawing out of his flame-filled lungs. He's sweating and he's on fire and his vision is hazy and luminous as the slippery, rounded head of Spock's massive erection prods at his slick-gushing, _hungry_ hole.

Spock is about to fuck him.

He's on his back on the heap of their tattered uniforms and he's gripping his quavering legs up and apart behind his knees and an also naked Spock is kneeling between his thighs and god, oh god, _Spock is about to fuck him_. How has his life come to this, that the very first time he has sex with Spock is in a stone-and-rock prison cell of an alien species that consumes its own _feces_? That he would be in the ultimate throes of his heat, and Spock in the ultimate throes of his pon'farr?

He would ask Spock those questions, except Spock's eyes are squeezed shut. Spock looks like he can't stand the sight of a naked, heat-mad Jim, like he'd rather be anywhere but here, about to stick his dick into a disgusting Omega slut like Jim.

"Jim," Spock says with that low, _low_ , resonant and husky voice, opening his eyes to a squint. "I do not want to hurt you."

This is the part where, if it were any other situation, if it was a reality where Spock shared precious parts of himself with Jim, where Spock _loved_ Jim in return and always, Jim would say, _you won't, you can't, don't worry, I love you_.

But see, now he knows, he _knows_ that Spock doesn't love him in return, much less always. He knows that Spock has been aware of the telepathic bond between them and doesn't want it. He knows that Spock would rather _die_ than fuck him, that Spock is only fucking him now because he's _coercing_ Spock to do it, even if it's going to _save Spock's life_. He knows that it's Uhura that Spock wants and loves, not him, _never him_.

And so, with stinging, glistening eyes, his lips moving on their own volition, he whispers instead, "You already did."

He might as well have slammed a fist into Spock's green-flushed face with those three words, judging from the shock that makes Spock's deep brown eyes go so round and _stark_. Jim decides to squeeze his own stinging, glistening eyes shut, not wanting to see what else flits across Spock's familiar, handsome features. (Not wanting to see the _disgust_ that must be there.)

He feels Spock's hands on the back of his shaking thighs. He feels the weight of Spock's eyes honed on him, on his face. He feels Spock's right hand caress his outer thigh (and he must be imagining it, he _must_ be).

"Ni'droi'ik nar-tor, Jim," Spock rasps. _I am sorry_.

Spock sounds like he's still reeling from a blow to the face, to the chest. Spock doesn't know that he's fluent in modern Golic Vulcan. Spock doesn't know that he knows what Spock just said to him. Spock doesn't know just how much Jim _hates_ himself in this very moment, distraught by the knowledge that Spock feels _awful_ about them having sex at all, that Spock feels the need to keep _apologizing_ for it.

He peels open his eyes anyway when the head of Spock's cock catches on the rim of his hole and then begins to push in. He stares up at Spock anyway with parted lips and hoarse gasps as that slippery, rounded, double-ridged head pushes past the ring of muscles and expands his hole till it is burning, burning with mild pain and escalating _need_. He embraces the pain, pushing down on the enormous, _thick_ cock to help quicken its entry, its conquest. He can feel each and every inch of it sliding into him, slowly, relentlessly. He can feel the double ridges stroke him inside, shattering his hastening breaths as they graze his prostate so much more sensitive in his heat.

Whatever happens afterward, he will have this. He will always have this.

His first orgasm strikes him seconds after Spock is deep inside him to the hilt. He can feel the brush of Spock's dark, velvety pubic hair against his perineum, his drawn up balls. He can feel the double ridges of Spock's cock pressing hard against his prostate, hard and _merciless_ and oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck _oh fuck_ , Spock feels so damn _perfect in him_ , filling all the emptiness in him, stretching him open so _wide_ and _so fucking good_ , like he was _made for Spock_. His back arches off the floor, off their tattered uniforms. He convulses and _clenches_ around Spock. He hears himself screaming low and long as he comes in zealous spurts all over his rippled belly and flushed chest. Golden stars explode with exceptional brightness behind his eyelids.

After he's collapsed back onto their uniforms, onto the floor, panting, his eyelids fluttering, Spock starts to _fuck_ him.

Spock pulls out until only the head of his cock remains inside, then thrusts back in to the hilt in one go, narrow hips ramming into Jim's bared and spread buttocks, again and again and _again_. Jim moans with every thrust. Every thrust, mighty as they are, jolts him up the floor and back. He scrabbles for something, _anything_ to cling to, to _sink_ his nails into. He feels Spock's hands skate up to the back of his knees from the back of his thighs. He blindly wraps his trembling hands over Spock's. He lets out a high-pitched groan and throws his head back when Spock spreads his thighs even wider, making Spock move even _deeper_ inside him.

 _Yes, take me_ , he yearns to say, to moan, to scream aloud. _Take me, claim me, make me_ yours _forever_.

Spock is saying something to him with that low, husky, sensual, _encompassing_ voice. He can't comprehend what Spock is saying. He tosses his head, gulping in smoldering breaths, letting go of Spock's hands to latch his own around Spock's thrusting hips and buttocks, feeling their robust muscles bunch and tense beneath his palms. The heat is building up in him again, up and up and _up_ each time that long, thick, _massive_ cock impales him and plows into his tingling prostate.

Still, still he forces his brimming, sore eyes open. He wants to see Spock come. He wants to see Spock come _inside him_.

He shivers when he realizes that Spock is now leaning over him, propped up on a sturdy right elbow while Spock's left hand is grasping his right ankle and bending his right leg even higher up and farther away from his bowed body. Spock's thrusts are determined and deep and fast. Spock still hasn't come yet.

Spock's fingertips are – they're pressing on the side of his face, on his temple, _what_ -

Jim's feverish breath snags in his throat. Spock wants to mindmeld with him. Spock wants to _connect_ with his _mind_ -

Spock's fingers skitter away from his face. Spock dips that head of disheveled, dark hair and pointed Vulcan ears and presses a warm, damp face to the side of his neck. Spock continues to thrust into him, harder, _harder_. He clutches at the back of Spock's dry head and neck. He stares up blindly at the mottled-stone ceiling and he feels something scalding and wet roll down his temples from his eyes.

Spock obscures his face in the side of his neck, and Jim stares and stares up blindly with weeping eyes. He lets out a tiny, anguished sound he won't acknowledge as Spock thrusts one more time and then achieves orgasm too, glutting Jim inside with a torrent of hot, fertile come and groaning into Jim's scorching skin.

It doesn't matter that Spock doesn't want to mindmeld with him. It doesn't matter that Spock is only fucking him to stay alive. It doesn't matter that Spock won't let him see his face when he comes. It doesn't matter.

His heat and Spock's pon'farr endure for almost two days.

Spock takes him on his back on their tattered uniforms two more times before flipping him over onto his belly, spreading his thighs wide and lifting his hips to take him once more. He blacks out while Spock fucks him against a wall and uses his weight to seat him as fully as possible on Spock's unyielding, _unequaled_ cock. He comes to on his side on the floor with his leg bent up against his enervated body, with Spock's hand under his head, feeling those marvelous ridges graze his tender prostate over and over and over. He comes with his back arching against Spock's fiery torso, his eyes scrunched shut, his mouth open wide in a soundless shriek, his hands mauling any part of Spock he can touch and grapple. He comes and comes and _comes_ and he's dying, he's in hell, he's in _heaven_.

If he wasn't in heat like he is now, he'd be in physical pain from the rigorous, ceaseless pounding of his raw hole. The plenteous slick his hole's steadily producing is ensuring otherwise. He's incapable of doing anything except writhe and whine and moan and _scream_ from the pleasure wracking him from head to toes. He's never had sex this fantastic in his _life_ (and of course, _of course_ it has to be with Spock, with this Vulcan he's stupid-crazy-mad- _fated_ in love with).

Jim is on his elbows and knees with Spock fucking him from behind when he experiences Spock's whole cock swelling its length for the first time. By this point, Spock has already fucked him countless times and his hole is looser and so wet with slick that Spock's seemingly perpetual erection slides in and out smoothly. The swelling, from hilt to tip, takes Jim totally by surprise. He lets out a soft, inquisitive noise when Spock suddenly goes immobile inside him and grips his hips to keep him pressed tightly against Spock's groin. By this point, Spock also hasn't said a coherent word in hours. Jim knows he isn't going to get an explanation from Spock any time soon (if ever).

The swelling starts off like an Alpha's knot would, a round bulge at the root of the cock that would expand until it plugs the Omega's hole to ensure the come won't leak out. Jim lets out another noise, louder, thrilled, then yet another noise, even louder, bewildered as the rest of Spock's erection expands too inside him. Soon, he feels so _full_ and _taut_ to bursting point that he almost wants to weep again, this time with pure, _pure_ pleasure.

An Alpha's knot is _nothing_ compared to this. No one else can fill him like this. _No one_.

Jim blacks out yet again when Spock comes inside him while swelled up like this, pumping him with more loads of pearl-white semen. He regains consciousness minutes (hours?) later to Spock fucking him from behind for who knows how many times now, weighing him down onto their tattered uniforms on the floor, licking and nipping at the rim of his right ear, at the nape of his clammy neck. He allows himself one smile into his frayed golden tunic, closing his eyes and reveling in the intimate sensations of Spock's velvety chest hair brushing his back, of Spock thrusting unfalteringly in and out of him, of Spock biting his nape as if Spock wants to leave his _mark_ there.

 _Yes, yes_ , Jim yearns to murmur, to groan aloud. _Mark me, I want to show the universe that I'm yours_.

He's too sated right now to think about how _revolting_ he is to be _enjoying_ any of this when Spock is being _coerced_ into fucking him like this, be it by pon'farr or by Jim himself. He's dirty and disgusting and disgraceful, he really is and he's certain he will be feeling the brunt of all this, of everything when his heat is over and he isn't behaving like the wild, vile Omega he is.

But Spock is rasping indiscernible words into the skin of his nape. Spock is caressing the length of his limp arms, the breath of his limp hands, the flanks of his limp, gratified body. Spock is still deep inside him, filling him up, making him whole. Spock is still _bonded_ to him, if only in body and not in mind and soul (not with Spock shielding himself from him).

Yes, whatever happens afterward, he will have this. He will always have this. He will always have this to remember, when he can't touch and taste and _feel_ Spock anymore.

 

<<< >>>

 

Bones is giving Jim more and more of those sympathetic looks lately. He hates them. He wants Bones to frown, to _scowl_ at him. He wants Bones to snap him out of his funk with a smack to the head. He wants Bones to berate him for being so _stupid_ , for being such a _lovesick fool_. He wants Bones to make him forget that things will never, ever be the same again between him and Spock. That he and Spock will never, ever be like they were before.

How can they, when he's carrying Spock's baby in him? When he's carrying Spock's baby in him and Spock is with someone else, someone Spock _chose_ to be with?

How can they, when he's never going to tell Spock about the baby?

"At least _something_ positive came out of your experience with the X'chigari," Bones says to him while they hang out in the solitude of Bones' office in sickbay after another long, dull, star-mapping day on the bridge. "Congratulations, kid. You are officially the first Human to cause an alien plague with your _puke_ and thus save a neighboring planet of five billion peaceful inhabitants from global invasion by the X'chigari."

It turns out that the reason the X'chigari had been late with his and Spock's meals is that most of them at the prison camp were already _dead_ by then from an extremely contagious bacterial infection they were defenseless against. From a bacteria in Jim's vomit. After Jim retched his breakfast _and_ lunch smack dab onto the fugly, five-eyed face of the shit-eating chief who'd punched him hard in the belly with a three-fingered, club-like hand. And _that_ was when the shit-eating chief's asshole cronies whaled on him with their own three-fingered, club-like fists and feet, despite how fervently Spock fought against his own captors to come to his aid.

Yeah, well, _okay_ , he'd be pretty upset too if somebody puked on _his_ face. But still, the X'chigari were _fugly_. Fugly and ghastly and so hell-bent on conquering their neighbors who were so _nice_ and _clean_ in comparison. In his books, they _totally_ deserved to have their fugly asses kicked by a _fabulous_ bacteria from his gut.

And Spock had been so damn _hot_ while battling at least fourteen of those X'chigari fuckers on his own, using his three-times-greater-than-a-Human's strength and his five-fingered fists and feet to take them down one by one. What stopped Spock from going after every other X'chigari around was a red-colored blast from what appeared to be more crude version of a phaser. The blast being red in color, it'd freaked Jim out so much when Spock succumbed to it and was so still and _silent_ on the ground. Jim thought the fuckers had _killed_ Spock. Jim had roared and punched and _kicked_ at every X'chigari _fucker_ who dared come near him, until he himself was shot with the same red blast.

It turns out the blast was a much milder version of a phaser's stun blast. The only aftereffect of it was a faint bruise where the blast struck. By the time he and Spock were rescued from their solitary cell, they had many more darker bruises upon their bodies.

Sometimes, Jim really misses the finger-shaped ones on his hips.

Sometimes - _all the time_ , especially when he and Spock are on the bridge and Spock's face is Vulcan-blank and Spock calls him Captain with a Vulcan-blank voice - Jim really misses the Vulcan who'd left those prints upon his body.

"Do you think Starfleet will give me an award for my plague-puke?" Jim says with a wide-eyed, innocent expression. "Maybe one of those shiny, gold ones that look like a bald, dickless man holding a globe?"

Bones aims narrowed eyes at him and snorts.

"You'll be lucky if they don't demand a hundred-page report on why your _vomit_ should be classified as severely hazardous material."

Bones' narrowed eyes are saying something very different from his mouth. They're saying, _get the hell out of my office and stop_ hiding _from that green-blooded hobgoblin_.

Jim gives Bones a cheeky, tight-lipped smile that says, _nope, I'm staying right here with my favorite doctor in the universe and there's nothing you can do to make me leave_.

Bones kicks him out five minutes later with the threat of injecting a dozen hypos into his neck. When Bones pulls out the hypos, it's time to _go_.

Apparently, today is not James Tiberius Kirk's lucky day, because just four minutes after departing (running) from Bones' office, he comes across Spock and Uhura in one of the ship's many corridors. He ducks behind a wall just in time to not be noticed by them. He's such a creep for sticking around, for peering over the edge of the wall at them but that's what he does.

Spock is facing him while Uhura is facing Spock. Spock is gazing down at her face, his arms at his sides. Spock's face is Vulcan-blank but strangely, Spock's eyes are even more blank. Maybe to other people they'd look Vulcan-normal … but Jim isn't other people. Jim has known Spock for a few years now. Jim has worked day after day with Spock on this magnificent ship and eaten many breakfasts (and sometimes lunches, sometimes dinners, even suppers) with Spock in the mess. Jim has played chess with Spock for numerous nights now, studying Spock while Spock studies the chess board. Memorizing the way Spock's long, lush eyelashes cast fans of shadows on those high cheekbones, the way that highly angular eyebrow rose up to touch the immaculately trimmed edge of space-black, velvety hair, the way those pointed Vulcan ears curved so charmingly into the air. The way those luscious, green-tinged lips curled and straightened and bowed whenever Spock spoke with such precision and erudition. Lips that Jim had desired so much to kiss, even then. Lips that Jim desires to kiss even now, more and more and more than ever.

Jim has been fucked _hard_ by Spock during pon'farr. Jim has seen Spock naked. Jim has seen Spock as a filthy, come-covered mess, with that immaculately combed hair tousled by _his_ fingers and that deceptively impassive face green-flushed and just so _flawless_ with its _mask_ gone.

Jim has _known_ Spock, in ways that no one else – not even Uhura – has known.

And yet, it is _Uhura_ who Spock stands with right now. It is Uhura who Spock has chosen as his lover, his _mate_. Uhura, who has no idea that Jim had forced her boyfriend to fuck him through his heat, no idea that Jim is carrying her boyfriend's _baby_ in him.

So he pivots and runs in the opposite direction. He runs, even after Spock lifts his head and those big, brilliant, intense, beautiful (still _so_ beautiful) deep brown eyes lock onto his blue, wide ones in the split second before he turns around. He imagines running into Spock again soon, in a similar corridor. He imagines Spock gazing at him with those blank eyes that he's never seen on Spock before until today.

He imagines Spock saying to him with a blank voice, _i'_ _nam-tor du veling ein-veh ik vesht fai-tor nash-veh_.

He imagines Spock turning around, turning away from him, leaving those Vulcan words to echo in his wake.

 _Now you are simply someone I once knew_.

He runs back to his quarters. Locks the door behind him. Locks the door to the shared bathroom too, just for good measure. He sits down heavily on the side of his cold, empty bed in the semi-darkness. He wants to tell his own brain to fuck off, to stop being so _dramatic_ , except … it's been weeks since he and Spock last ate together in the mess. _Months_ since they last played chess here in his quarters (and he hasn't made another offer of a game since Spock declined). He keeps seeing Spock with Uhura around the Enterprise, like he's been _cursed_ to have their relationship rubbed in his face since his and Spock's return to the ship from the X'chigaris' planet.

Maybe it's the universe trying to tell him something. Maybe the other Spock – Selek, he calls himself Selek now but he's _Spock_ to Jim too – was _wrong_ about him and his Spock becoming the very best of friends, despite the venerable Vulcan insisting on it being undeniable truth every time Jim chats with him through a secured comm channel. (And _god_ , how is he ever going to face the engaging, tender-hearted old Vulcan again, be it via a viewscreen or in person? How will he have the heart to tell Selek that, no, in this reality, James Tiberius Kirk and S'chn T'gai Spock _can't_ be friends after all?)

Maybe Mom was right about him. Maybe Mom and Sam and even _Frank_ , that abusive piece of shit, were _right_ about him. Maybe he's meant to be alone in life. To do everything, to _survive_ on his own in the end. Although he's pregnant, there's no telling what will happen in the months ahead. He … he can't even bear the _thought_ of an abortion. (He can admit that much to himself now.) But Omega men have it the toughest in regards to pregnancy. He's already read numerous studies and periodicals about Omega male pregnancy, and every time he encountered an article on mortality rates for pregnant Omega males _and_ their babies, he'd be queasy after reading it. He could still lose this baby as late as eight months into the pregnancy from a whole host of potential complications. He could lose the baby even after giving birth to it. (Never have the words 'congenital anomalies' petrified him so much as they do now, and his baby is _part-Vulcan_ with no precedent in history for an _Omega male_ to carry it to term.)

He could lose the baby anyway. The baby. The only thing he'll have left of Spock in his life when he leaves the Enterprise and Starfleet.

 _Jesus_.

He lets out a shaky, wet sigh. He hunches forward and enfolds his forearms over his still somewhat flat belly. In mere weeks, his belly will begin to visibly expand. In another month after that, it'll be impossible for him to cover up his belly or wear any of his uniforms. Yeah … he really will have to leave the Enterprise (leave _Spock_ ) before that. He'll have to leave Starfleet (unless they boot him out first, which is far more likely). And then he'll … _he'll_ -

Jim shuts his eyes.

He bows his head.

He sucks in a breath, a deep and stable one, into his jittery chest.

He feels the oncoming flood of panic recede with another deep and stable breath. Another, then another. After a while, he sits upright and squares his shoulders. He firms his jaw. Opens his eyes to half-mast. Presses his right palm over his lower belly, over where a new life is growing in him. A new life that will depend on him. _Need_ him.

His baby. _His baby_.

He'll figure something out. He will. He always does. He doesn't believe in no-win situations, and he isn't about to now. He'll do everything he can to take care of his baby, to bring them up with all the love he's got in him, all the love he never got himself. He will. As for his baby's father, as for _Spock_ -

Jim shuts his eyes once more. He presses his left hand over his right on his lower belly. He breathes.

As for Spock, his memories of the amazing, noble, loyal, _incomparable_ Vulcan will have to be enough. They have to be enough. They have to be.

 

<<< >>>

 

Spock is finally asleep. Spock's pon'farr is finally over.

Jim lies on his side facing Spock who's also lying on his side on the sanded-smooth rock floor of their solitary cell. Jim had bunched the tattered remains of Spock's tunic and t-shirt into a makeshift pillow under Spock's head, and Spock slumbers soundly on it, that familiar, handsome face relaxed and no longer green-flushed. Jim lays his head on his own folded arm on the floor, too lethargic to move and retrieve his own tunic and t-shirt. Their pants and underwear are somewhere in the cell but he isn't about to get up to search for them either.

His heat ended hours earlier. He could feel the frenetic, broiling fever of it ebb as Spock took him for the last time, clasping them chest to chest with one sinewy arm around his waist and one long-fingered hand cupping the back of his head, his pliant legs enclosed around Spock's hips while Spock nuzzled the underside of his jaw and neck. It'd still felt so good, so right. There was so much slick and come streaming out of his now puffy, raw hole that there wasn't much of a difference after he stopped producing any more fresh slick. Spock slid in and out of him with a dreamy, pleasant pace. Spock mouthed at his throat, at the mound of his Adam's apple. Spock was whispering something into his skin but he didn't know what. Spock was caressing the back of his head, carding those exquisite, adept, long fingers through his mussed-up hair, and inside his head, his _mind_ like a tingling _presence_ was … Spock, too.

It almost felt like Spock was making love to him, inside and out.

And now, now that Spock is sound asleep, Jim is feeling bold enough to card his own fingers through Spock's unkempt hair. To touch those long, lush eyelashes and the ridiculous, _delightful_ point of Spock's visible ear with his fingertips. To touch that prominent, stately nose and those luscious, green-tinged, _supple_ lips with the pads of his fingers.

Jim is feeling bold enough to finally say to Spock what he'd yearned to that fateful day in Engineering so long ago.

"Ashau nash-veh du, k'diwa," he rasps against those luscious, green-tinged, supple lips in their very first kiss, his eyes shut. "Nam-tor du goh ashayam t'nash-veh."

 _I love you, half of my heart and soul. You are my only beloved_.

Spock's eyes do not open. Spock's lips do not move. Spock's breaths remain stable and unhurried, and Jim sighs noiselessly, allowing himself to nuzzle Spock's face, to rub the length of their noses together.

It doesn't matter that Spock is sleeping. It doesn't matter that Spock didn't hear him. It doesn't matter.

(But Spock isn't asleep, he isn't.)

 

<<< >>>

 

"I'm keeping the baby."

The wide-eyed expression of stupefaction on Bones' face when Jim says that is _priceless_. Bones is still gaping at him across his office's desk as Jim adds with a wry smile, "Didn't expect that, huh?"

Bones closes his mouth. Bones' hazel-green eyes are still wide, but they are also beginning to saturate with an emotion that Jim can most accurately describe as an amalgam of surprise, gladness and admiration. It makes Jim's skin itch. It makes Jim want to avert his face and crawl under a rock and _hide_ there.

He doesn't know why Bones is looking at him like that now. He's guessing it has something to do with Bones being a father himself, the proud father of an angelic, delightful little girl who's still in Georgia, Atlanta, who Jim calls Jo-Jo instead of Joanna and turns Bones into a giant marshmallow on two legs. He doesn't _deserve_ happiness, much less _admiration_ for his decision. He's pregnant in the first place because he pressured Spock into fucking him (to save Spock's life, _to save Spock's life_ ). Bones may know about him going into heat, but Bones doesn't know about Spock's pon'farr. Spock never gave him permission to tell anyone else about it. It's staying a secret between him and Spock. Just like his pregnancy is staying a secret between him and Bones.

Jim jumps to his feet from the chair in front of Bones' desk and paces the open, carpeted area between Bones' desk and couch. He crosses his arms over his chest. He glances up at the ceiling. He exhales heavily. He doesn't look at Bones although he can feel Bones' earnest gaze on him.

"Jim. You love this ship," Bones says gently.

Jim halts in his tracks. He glances up at the ceiling again. He blinks as his vision suddenly becomes blurry and hot.

"Yeah. I do," he replies casually, still looking at the white, sterile ceiling.

 _But not as much as the father of this baby_ , he thinks, his throat working past a lump in it. _Not as much as this baby_.

Bones doesn't comment on how _not_ casual he'd sounded. He hears Bones sigh low. He hears Bones tapping the tip of a PADD stylus on the polished surface of his desk.

"You've been getting away with the Alpha pheromone cologne so far, but … you're in your third month of pregnancy." Bones pauses, then says, "Once you start showing, people are going to talk. People are going to guess."

Jim resumes pacing the length of the office. He doesn't look at Bones.

"I know. I know, Bones. I -" He uncrosses then crosses his arms over his chest again. "I'll be informing Starfleet of my – of my resignation soon. A couple of days. A week, maybe."

 _After I tell Spock that he's going to be the next captain of the Enterprise_ , he doesn't say. _The captain the Enterprise should have had all along_.

"You going back to Earth?"

He's tempted to tell Bones that, for one mad hour last night, he'd seriously considered going to New Vulcan to see Selek, to _be with_ Selek. After all, Selek _is_ Spock, just from another reality. Selek is a Spock who'd become the best of friends with his Jim. Selek is a Spock who'd clearly _loved_ his Jim.

But Selek … isn't _his_ Spock. Selek will never love him as much as his own Jim, he knows that. And talk about being _unfair_ towards Selek, having to deal with a Jim who isn't his Jim, a Jim who's _pregnant_ with the baby of this reality's Spock. (Does Selek even _know_ about the Alpha/Beta/Omega gender dynamics of Humans in this reality?)

"Yeah. Yeah. But not Iowa," Jim replies instead. He halts in front of a tall cabinet with shut drawers. If he stares at them intently enough, he can see a fuzzy reflection of himself on their white, glossy surfaces, so he doesn't. "I think I'll stay in San Francisco."

 _Maybe someplace near the Academy_ , he doesn't say either. _Maybe one day, after the Enterprise's mission is over, Spock will go back there and become an instructor there again_.

"It's much better than Riverside, that's for sure. Especially for Omegas."

Jim nods. He doesn't say anything. Bones is right about that, about San Francisco being a better location to live in for Omega males like him. Cities like San Francisco have designated safe areas for Omegas and organizations dedicated to fighting for the rights of Omegas and the betterment of their lives. For a single, pregnant Omega male like him, it's as good as it gets. Starfleet sure as fuck isn't going to be lenient on him for lying about being an Omega to be on command track, nevermind that he became captain because of Nero being a Romulan fuckwad who massacred so many Starfleet officers and cadets on top of Vulcan and its people. He'll be lucky if they don't arrest him for fraud and slap jail time on him (and _then_ what will happen to his baby?), if he just gets kicked out and banned from Starfleet.

He'll need all the help he can get to bring up a child on his own in that case, to find employment outside of Starfleet that isn't discriminatory towards Omegas. As the (soon-to-be former) captain of the Enterprise, who's saved Earth _twice_ already, he _may_ be able to pull strings to get a decent job. Maybe. It's a fucking big maybe. There's also the issue of his baby very likely exhibiting Vulcan traits, like the pointed ears and highly angular eyebrows. How long will it take before word goes around about the former captain of the Enterprise with a kid who looks _Vulcan_? How long, before such word reaches _Spock_? Even an imbecile will wonder about the odds of his kid being Spock's, considering how _famous_ he and Spock are nowadays on Earth thanks to the global news media. (For god's sakes, there were even news articles and holovideos that pondered on his _relationship_ with his Commander, that speculated that they were _more than just friends_.)

For all he knows, the Vulcan High Council may decide to take his baby away from him as some recourse to facilitate the colonization of New Vulcan. (Just, fuck no.)

For all he knows, _Spock_ may decide to take their baby away from him, insisting on the baby being brought up the Vulcan way under his primary care. (With Uhura as his _wife_ and the _mother_ of their baby instead, _fuck no_.) It's paralyzing that he can't dismiss the idea, that he _can_ see Spock doing that while spelling out the _logic_ of his actions, nevermind what disgusting-Omega-slut Jim _feels_. (No, no, no, no, _no_ , just … no.)

But the most urgent issue for now is Bones helping him all these years to conceal his Omega status. He's already figured out one potential avenue to save Bones from being dragged down with him: he'll testify that Bones has always been unaware of his Omega status, that he'd stolen all those heat suppressant shots. Worse comes to worse, if Bones tries to assert that he does know about Jim being an Omega, he'll testify that he threatened Bones unless Bones gave the shots to him. Bones will hate him for it, definitely, but he'll do everything he can to protect his best friend.

He'll figure something out. He will. He always does. He doesn't believe in no-win situations, and he isn't about to now, no way.

"Are you going to tell Spock about the baby? You know he'll want an explanation for your resignation." Bones raises both eyebrows and widens his eyes dramatically. "A _logical_ one!"

Jim tries to laugh. He really does. But his vision goes blurry and hot again, and he keeps his back towards Bones when he shakes his head in response. He's such an asshole. He's been avoiding Spock and he knows that Spock knows it. He knows Spock must be curious as hell by now about why he'd been vomiting.

 _Oh, it was nothing, Spock_ , he imagines himself saying to the blank-faced Vulcan. _Just morning sickness, that's all_!

For fuck's _sakes_ -

"For what it's worth, Jim, I'm proud of you. I'm proud to be your friend," Bones says, distinctly and genuinely. "I will always be proud to be your friend, no matter where you are."

For _fuck's sakes_ , Bones just _had_ to go and say all that and get him all choked up like some _hormonal, pregnant Omega_ , hadn't he?

Well, that's exactly what he is now. It's time to buck up and accept that. In six months, it'll be an irrefutable fact about him to everyone who meets him and his baby (if everything goes well with the pregnancy, _please_ , god).

"You giant marshmallow," he retorts, turning around to face Bones with a smirk.

Jim doesn't comment on the softness of Bones' expression. Bones doesn't comment on Jim blinking glistening eyes multiple times. Neither of them comment on Jim's numbered days as the captain of the Enterprise, or on the inevitable fallout when Spock learns about Jim resigning and leaving the ship (and very likely Starfleet).

Spock.

Jim still thinks and dreams so much, too much about the Vulcan.

Back in his quarters later, Jim is curled up on his side in bed in the semi-darkness and he's reliving the sensations of Spock nipping at his ear, the nape of his neck, of Spock mouthing at his throat, his Adam's apple. He's staring at the door to the bathroom he shares with Spock. Spock isn't in his own quarters tonight. Jim knows that because Spock is in the laboratories with his team of scientists, going gaga over the latest stars and planets mapped out.

 _Bolau nash-veh var-tor du ta ashau tu nash-veh_ , he thinks, imagining an alternate reality where Spock says those words to him, where Spock loves him in return and always and is here with him. _I need you to tell me that you love me_.

And Jim will say, _I love you, I think I've loved you from the moment I saw you standing before me at that disciplinary hearing over your damn Kobayashi Maru simulation_.

And Spock will say, _I think I have loved you from the moment you were born and your katra was destined to entwine with mine for all time_.

But he doesn't live in such a reality. He doesn't. It's time to buck up and accept that. Time to let go of his ship. Time to plant his feet on land and be content with gazing up at the stars now and then, remembering the good times when he'd soared among them with his incredible, tried-and-true crew (with Spock, with _Spock_ ). Time to set aside his old dreams and make new ones, for himself and his baby.

Time to let Spock go.

 

<<< >>>

 

The last person Jim expects to ever show up at the door of his quarters is, well, not only there but demanding to be permitted entry. He is almost, _almost_ tempted to say to Uhura, _hey, you're knocking on the wrong door, your boyfriend is next door_.

"Computer," he says with a low sigh. "Let her in."

He stands up with his arms at his sides behind his desk as Uhura strides in like a billowing ion storm. He maintains a placid expression when she halts in front of his desk. He gazes at her while she just … glowers at him.

What the hell?

"Lieutenant?" he says, permitting only the slightest furrowing of his brow.

He gazes on at her when she crosses her arms over her chest and continues to glower at him with what seems to be … affront? Indignation? _Outrage_?

What the _hell_?

"Lieutenant?" he reiterates, frowning openly now. "Uhura?"

He starts to walk around his desk, only to be blocked by Uhura raising one hand palm-out with her arm aggressively straight.

" _Stand still_ ," she grinds out, her large, brown eyes blazing like a solar blast with a fury that he doesn't understand.

Jim is _this_ close to telling her off for talking to her _captain_ like that, and in his _quarters_ too. He has no freaking clue why she's behaving like this towards him. Everything has been running smoothly on the bridge so far. The most exciting thing to happen to the ship in the past few weeks has been the detection and analysis of dozens of new red dwarf stars and a few Class-J and Class-L planets. Outside of their shifts on the bridge, he and Uhura don't even _talk_ to each other despite the fact that Spock is her boyfriend and one of his best friends … well, these days, _maybe_.

Can you still be best friends with somebody who no longer eats meals with you or plays chess with you or _talks_ with you?

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant Uhura?" he asks with a patience he doesn't have.

And before he even realizes it, he raises one eyebrow high up his forehead, like a particular Vulcan they've both been … _intimate_ with would. It seems to do the trick of snapping Uhura out of her bizarre behavior and prompting her to _say_ something in clarification.

"I'm trying to see what _he_ sees," she says, still glowering at Jim. Yet, there is also something like … despair in her dimming eyes.

He blinks at her in bewilderment. _What the hell_? Okay. This has officially gone from 'weird' to 'where is the Uhura-speak translation dictionary when he badly needs one?'. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand what she's talking about. See what? What is she looking for? And who the heck is this _he_ she's referring to -

Oh.

Jim blinks again. He stares back at her as she scrutinizes his face, as her expression segues into something akin to … resignation? _Mourning_? What? Whatever it is she's thinking and feeling, he's pretty sure now that she isn't here as a lieutenant meeting her captain. She isn't seeing a captain as her eyes pore over him from head to waist and back again.

What _is_ she seeing? What does she _think_ she's seeing?

And what is it that _he_ , that _Spock_ – and it _has_ to be Spock she's talking about, he can't think of anyone else they have in common – apparently _sees_ of him? _What_?

He doesn't get the opportunity to demand Uhura for answers. Without another word, she turns around and darts to the door of his quarters. The door is already opening when Jim's brain fires up again and he exclaims the first thing that comes to his dumbfounded mind.

"Du halyan wilat?!" _Where are you going_?!

Okay, honestly, he had _not_ intentionally chosen to speak Vulcan. He really hadn't. It just _happened_. (Like _Spock_ just happens to him. Like Spock's _girlfriend_ just happens to him, barging into his quarters and treating him like he just smothered a box of fluffy kittens or something.)

It doesn't stall Uhura anyway. She doesn't even glance back as she stomps out into the corridor and disappears from sight after the door closes behind her, and in her wake is a Jim who rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air in frustration over frustrating, furtive communications officers and their frustrating, furtive Vulcan boyfriends.

It is weeks from now, as he is curled up on his side in bed in the semi-darkness, basking in the stable, unhurried, volcanic exhalations against his nape, in the brush of velvety chest hair against his bare back, that Jim sees what Uhura has seen of him tonight. He sees what Spock has seen of him for months, for _years_ , long before he himself does.

He sees a friend, a brother in arms. A life-long companion. A lover. A soulmate.

He sees someone that Uhura was not able to be for Spock.

He sees Uhura pivoting and running and running, knowing her anguish and the agony of love lost to another.

 

<<< >>>

 

For the first time, Spock offers a game of chess later in the evening. It's not to be in Jim's quarters or Spock's but in the rec room.

For the first time, Jim declines the offer from Spock.

Seeing as they are on the bridge, with Spock standing beside the captain's seat while he's sitting in it with his legs crossed at the ankles, it's awkward as hell when he has to glance up at Spock to say nonchalantly, "I'm sorry, Mister Spock, I'm not available. Some other time, maybe?"

He's pretty sure his tone was just the right side of professional and friendly as well as candid. He's _pretty_ sure he pulled it off. Maybe about 98.518% sure. (Hey, he's _Human_ , not Vulcan. It's not his fault if the calculation isn't 100% accurate.)

Spock's face is utterly expressionless. Jim doesn't look at Spock's eyes. (Those big, brilliant, intense, still so damn beautiful deep brown eyes.) He has his eyes flickering away from the lower half of Spock's face and honed on the viewscreen in front of them before the last word tumbles off his dry tongue. He can feel Spock's gaze honed on him.

He doesn't look at Spock. He sure as fuck doesn't look at Spock's girlfriend who's sitting at the communications station. He doesn't miss the meaningful glance that Sulu and Chekov give each other at their stations, either. Shit, has he been so _obvious_ about avoiding Spock? So obvious that other members of the crew have noticed? That Spock had to resort to extending an offer of a game of chess while _on the bridge_?

The only place they ever see each other nowadays?

Shit, _shit_.

If Bones was here and not in sickbay dealing with a merry-go-round of Aaamazzarite flu right now, Jim is definitely 100% sure that Bones would say, _Jim, this can't go on forever, you_ know _that_.

Bones would say, _you've already decided not to tell the green-blooded hobgoblin about the baby, haven't you_?

And Bones would say, _time to let him go and move on, kid, and take care of yourself now._

So Jim doesn't look. He doesn't look when Spock silently returns to his station behind him. He doesn't look at Uhura who is looking at him now with eyes that are definitely _not_ friendly. (And what the hell is up with _that_? You'd think she would be _pleased_ that he turned Spock down, that she's getting her boyfriend all to herself these days.)

He doesn't look even when their shift ends. He glances in Spock's direction (but not Spock's face, not his familiar, _handsome_ face) and nods before striding to the turbolift. Spock is still at his station as the turbolift's doors shut in front of Jim's face.

Alone, Jim lets his eyes fall shut and his shoulders slump. Alone, it's so easy to hear Frank's nasally, nasty voice in his head once more, as if Frank is right _there_ next to him, not dead and gone.

 _Time to let Spock go, Jimmy-boy. Time to crash down on land and stay there with the rest of us, and it's all your own fault. You should be_ grateful _that you even got into Starfleet, much less became the captain of the Enterprise for as long as you did. Stupid, disgusting Omega slut. Only Alphas can become leaders._ Alphas _rule the world_.

When the turbolift doors open on the floor of his quarters, Jim's eyes are open and his shoulders are squared again. But Frank is still cackling in his ears. Frank is still stating the cold, blistering truth that he has to buck up and accept now.

That evening, in his black t-shirt and pants, Jim is kneeling on the floor and resuming the packing of his treasured collection of Earth-printed books. They are some of his most prized possessions, second only to the slightly faded color photograph of his dad that he safeguards between the pages of one of those hardcover books. Mom never had any holopics of his dad in the house. There were _no_ pictures of his dad in the house for as long as he can remember (although Sam once mentioned that there were, until _he_ was born and Dad died). After Sam left (without a goodbye, without a single word), Jim had discovered the photo of their father slipped between the mattress and bed frame in Sam's room. He's kept it ever since, concealing it from Frank and Mom so they couldn't (can't) take it away from him.

Sometimes, when he suddenly feels an unfathomable pang in his chest, one that doesn't go away with Bones' bourbon, he takes out that photo to look at it. To trace his dad's features with a finger. Dad, who had golden hair and blue eyes just like him. Golden hair and blue eyes that made his mom's gaze evade him, that made her a million miles away from him even when he was near enough for her to touch his face (that looks just like his dad's, just like it).

He doesn't take out the photo. He's murmuring down at his belly instead as he arranges the books already in a cargo box into neat rows.

"You're gonna love San Francisco. I know you will. It's a city on the West Coast of the United States – that's my home country on Earth, by the way, and where you'll be born – and its winters are mild and _just_ nice, and its summers are dry, maybe like the weather on Vulcan was and oh, you're gonna love the fog. I can already imagine your tiny, pointed ears twitching from all that ocean moisture."

He's begun to pack his stuff but he has yet to contact Starfleet about his resignation as captain. Yeah, he told Bones a week ago that he was going to do it in a couple of days, a _week_ tops but … he still has time. His belly has barely started to show, just that there is this particular _roundness_ to it. Hell, he still has his _six-pack abs_. He still has time. He does.

"Well, okay, there are _earthquakes_ , yeah, but they don't happen often. The last time a really, really bad one happened was in 1906. Hundreds of years ago! The city has great earthquake detectors and trackers now. We'll be just fine."

Suddenly, he finds himself with an open hardcover book and the photo of his dad in hand anyway. He finds himself tracing his dad's features with a fingertip. Dad is smiling broadly at the camera, his twinkling and kind eyes crinkled, his hair cut shorter than Jim's. Dad looks so happy. Dad looks so alive, like he never died and he's just waiting for Jim to find him and be with him so they can explore the black-velvet star-studded infinity of space together.

"It's gonna be okay, baby. Everything's gonna be okay," Jim whispers, staring at his father who is smiling broadly at him. "I love you. I will never leave you."

Alone, Jim doesn't worry about swiping his eyes dry with the back of his hand, or about his one sniffle.

"Stupid hormones," he mutters down at where a second heart is beating inside him, smiling wryly and rubbing his lower belly with his right hand. "Looks like Daddy's gonna have to deal with them until you come out, huh?"

The comforting wave of warmth emanating from his belly is probably just his desperate imagination. It's gratifying, nonetheless.

He's put the photograph of his dad and the hardcover book back on the tall bookshelf he's kneeling next to when the Computer informs him that Spock is at the locked bathroom door leading into his quarters. Spock is requesting entry.

Unlike Spock's girlfriend, Jim is certain that Spock will respect his decision if he denies the request. Jim is also certain, however, that this will be far from the last time Spock attempts to reach out to him. He'd told Spock earlier on the bridge that he won't be available and yet, here's Spock at the bathroom door, asking for permission to see him.

Asking for permission, when almost four months ago, Jim would have opened the door himself before the Computer finished stating Spock's name.

"Computer," Jim rasps, lowering the lid of the cargo box to shut it. "Let him in."

Jim has to suck in a long breath before languidly standing up to face Spock. When he does turn around, he sees that Spock is standing in front of the shut-again bathroom door with those exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands held behind his back. Spock isn't wearing his uniform. Spock is wearing a black outfit that appears to be comprised of silk. Its long pants are loose and reach Spock's ankles. Its long-sleeved tunic, belted at the waist, has a very low and wide v-collar that exposes Spock's broad, hirsute chest.

Jim has never seen Spock in this outfit before. Jim has never seen Spock attired in anything else except his uniform and formal grays (and that damn insulating suit that Spock wore to go into that goddamn Nibiru volcano and then _stay in there to die_ just because of the _goddamn Prime Directive_ ).

This black, silken outfit is … sexy as _hell_ on Spock.

Whoa, is _this_ what Spock wears to sleep? Is Spock meeting him in his _pajamas_?

Jim hastily averts his eyes from the velvety, space-black hair curling on Spock's chest. He can still recall exactly how that hair had felt brushing against his skin while Spock thrust in and out of him. He can still recall _exactly_ how Spock had felt moving deep inside him. Like he was made for Spock. Like Spock was made for him.

He swivels around to face the tall bookshelf against the wall. He makes a show of selecting a few books and stacking them on a lower, empty tier, his face scorching. He realizes his mistake of doing this when it's too late. He's targeted Spock's attention at his partially cleared bookshelf. Spock will be scrutinizing the changes to his quarters any minute now: the cargo boxes, be they folded up or already in use; the books missing from his bookshelf; the open drawer of his wardrobe, revealing it to be half-full with his t-shirts and a pair of jeans.

Yeah, Spock is going to put the two and two together soon, and arrive at the only answer possible.

And when that happens, their friendship – whatever's left of it - will _never_ be the same again.

"Jim," Spock says with that low, resonant, encompassing voice, that voice that Jim still dreams of with frightening frequency.

"Spock," he says, still facing the bookshelf.

"Nam-tor du muhl ha?"

Jim freezes in place, his breath hitching in his throat. Spock's just asked him how he is in Vulcan. Spock wouldn't have done that if he believed that Jim doesn't understand Vulcan. Spock must have found out the truth about that. Uhura probably told him, after his peculiar meeting with her right here in his quarters weeks ago.

Jim turns around and looks Spock in the eye, because Spock deserves that from his (soon-to-be former) captain, from his … friend.

Friend: still so infinitesimal a word to encapsulate everything that he feels, everything that he would do for this beloved Vulcan.

"I'd tell you I'm fine, but something tells me your reply to that would be along the lines of, 'Fine has many variables. Fine is unacceptable.'"

He thinks he pulled off a rather good impression of Spock.

As expected, Spock doesn't smile. Spock doesn't even raise an eyebrow. Spock has walked nearer towards him, halting about seven feet away and facing him. Spock's face is utterly expressionless, but those eyes, _those eyes_ are anything but, gleaming like they do. Spock appears thinner. Tired. Paler, with shadows under those intense, deep brown eyes. Spock looks like he hasn't been sleeping or eating well for a while.

"Do you mean to say, then, that you are _not_ fine?"

It takes Jim prolonged seconds to reply. He licks his lips. Presses them together into a thin line.

"Sos'eh," he says, still looking Spock in the eye. _Maybe_.

If Jim had been standing behind Spock then, he would have seen Spock's hands in taut fists against the Vulcan's lower back. He would have seen Spock's right hand twitching once before going motionless again, going white-knuckled as if Spock's life, Spock's _universe_ depends on it.

As it is, Jim sees no reaction from Spock. Spock stares at him with eyes that pin Jim like a butterfly to a board, like luscious, green-tinged lips to the bared skin of his throat. Spock stands with his spine ramrod straight and his shoulders squared and his head held high. Spock doesn't bother with small talk.

"You have been avoiding me," Spock says, cutting to the quick. "Since our ordeal with the X'chigari 3.6 months ago, the routine of our meals together has gradually decreased from daily to … never, as have our games of chess in your quarters. Our meetings and interactions are now limited to the bridge during our shifts. In contrast, I have observed a remarkable increase in your meetings and interactions with Doctor McCoy. You dine only with him in the mess, or not at all. In the last two months, your visits to sickbay have increased by 600%." Spock tilts his head (and it's still so damn _adorable_ that it _hurts_ Jim's sanity to see it). "Curious, knowing that you typically despise going to sickbay. Unless it is as a … social visit to Doctor McCoy."

Jim is tongue-tied, which he himself knows is a rare occurrence. He must be imagining the pauses. He must be imagining Spock grinding his teeth while saying that last sentence because Vulcans in control don't grind their teeth, much less sound _jealous_. He doesn't know what to say to Spock. He doesn't know what to say in denial of everything Spock's pointed out so far that won't be bullcrap even a _baby_ can see through -

"I have ascertained that Doctor McCoy did indeed examine you in regards to your bouts of nausea 1.6 months ago. What was the cause?"

Jim swallows hard. He feels like such a _coward_ when he swivels around again instead of answering Spock, grabbing a random book because he doesn't know what the fuck else to do with his hands. Of course Spock wouldn't have forgotten that. _Of course_ Spock still wants to know what happened to him, what is _still_ happening to him -

"You turn away from me. You cannot bear to look at me."

Jim swivels back to face Spock once more, his eyes wide, the book still in hand. Okay, he _must_ have imagined the emotion in Spock's voice. He must have. Spock isn't in pon'farr – what with it only transpiring once every seven _years_ , according to Spock - so there's no reason whatsoever for Spock to not be in control. There's no reason for Spock to be emotional. (Not yet.) Jim sucks in another long breath that fills his lungs with Spock's still so extraordinary, spicy and wood-like scent. He stares at Spock standing there so regally and humbling and _sublime_ , like a towering, evergreen oak. How Spock can be so goddamn _stunning_ is beyond Jim's understanding.

Spock's discerning gaze is now flitting here and there around his quarters, cataloging the cargo boxes and the disorganization of his books and oh, the stack of folded clothing he'd placed at the foot of his bed.

"You are stowing away your personal items," Spock says, calmly and quietly. "You are leaving."

Jim's fingers clench around the paperback in his hands. He doesn't say a thing to deny that either. It's the truth, and his throat is being dammed up by a colossal boulder anyway.

Spock takes another step forward nearer to him.

"You have been avoiding me since my pon'farr, since my … actions towards you. You have distanced yourself from me. And now, you are … leaving."

He's just imagining the emotion, the _ache_ in Spock's voice. He has to be. He _has_ to be.

 _It's now or never, Kirk_ , he thinks. _Tell him what you already have once before, what you should have accepted from the beginning_.

He swallows past that colossal boulder in his throat.

"I'm giving up command of the Enterprise. I'm handing her over to you, Spock. I'm handing her to the captain she's always truly deserved," Jim says as calmly and quietly, his own shoulders squared, his own head held high. "I'm going back to Earth."

Jim's hands are white-knuckled around the book they grip. Jim might as well have slammed both fists into Spock's face with those four sentences, judging from the shock that makes Spock's entire face go ghastly pale, that makes Spock's eyes go so round that Jim can see the whites around the deep brown irises even from where he stands.

If Jim had been standing behind Spock then, he would have seen Spock's fists trembling against the Vulcan's lower back. He would have realized just how tenuous Spock's self-control has become from mere words.

"State your reason for these radical decisions."

Jim swallows yet again, his Adam's apple bobbing in his constricted throat. No … no, he _isn't_ imagining the emotion in Spock's gravelly albeit clear voice. Certainly not on Spock's excruciatingly pale face, still so flawless with its mask gone.

"I can't. I _can't_ , Spock, I -" Jim sets down the book in his hand on one of the tiers of the bookshelf behind him. The noise it makes upon its heavy impact is loud but does nothing to lessen the amplifying tension between him and Spock. "I'm sorry. It's just how it has to be! Please, just accept this."

Although Spock's eyes are still wide, Spock's face has become blank and marble-cold again.

"Vesht dungi nam-tor ish maut riolozhikaik." _That would be highly illogical_.

"Illogical why?"

"You have given me no reason, no explanation for leaving, and yet you expect me to _approve_ of it," Spock retorts and oh, it _is_ a retort and not just an impassive reply, ground out through gritted teeth. "Then allow me to hypothesize the reason given the evidence thus far collated from our experiences with my pon'farr and your heat, and from your behavior towards me since."

Oh shit, Spock's bringing out the long, formal sentences and the big words. Along with the pallid, _blank_ face and _fiery_ eyes, Spock is getting ... _angry_.

"In that cell, you were overcome by your heat while I was overcome by my pon'farr. However, my mental faculties were still fully intact and I was still capable of restraining myself from touching from you when you divested yourself of your clothing. I should have stopped you. I should have stopped you from touching me but I did not. I should have done whatever I could to stop you from sacrificing yourself for me, knowing that you are a heterosexual man and you would have had to _coerce_ yourself into having sexual congress with me, knowing that you were doing it solely to purge me of my pon'farr."

Jim's brow creases with confusion even as he stares wide-eyed at Spock's face. Whoa, _whoa_ , wait a goddamn _minute_ here, what is Spock _saying_ -

"Instead, I took advantage of your compromised condition. I allowed myself to be _controlled_ by my pon'farr, my _lust_ that must have disgusted you from the way you shut your eyes and turned your face from me then. You even admitted, Jim, that I _hurt_ you -" - and oh god, Spock's face is _visibly_ twisting with self-loathing - "and still, I allowed myself to – no, I _chose_ to violate you, when I should have controlled myself. I should have let myself be burned out by the plak'tow. I should have had the mental bond between us removed as soon as possible instead of letting it _thrive_ to my elation and become another violation of your person, your _mind_ -"

"Spock -"

"I harmed my t'hai'la, Jim. You do not understand the severity of such a transgression for my people, we who cherish this most honored and rarest of bonds."

Jim's brow creases even more. T'hai'la? That's another Vulcan word with which he's unfamiliar, that he's yet to see in his research of Vulcan and its culture and rituals. The way Spock says the word, this word that represents the _most_ _honored and rarest of bonds for Vulcans_ -

"Spock, if you're referring to me, this - this _t'hai'la_ , you did _not_ harm me -"

"You are wrong, Jim. You _said_ to me that I did, and your behavior proves it so. It proves that you _know_ I have done you wrong. You said to me, on the transporter pad, that things between us have not changed, that we were still just like we were before. Yet, everything has changed. You avoid me. You become withdrawn in my presence, a dim shadow of yourself. You retreat from me whenever the opportunity arises, preferring the company of others. You constantly avert your eyes, your body from me. Clearly, you are _disgusted_ with me. Therefore, I must conclude that the reason you are resigning as captain and leaving the Enterprise ... is me," Spock says with a voice gone even more gravelly, with eyes heavy-lidded and so very weary and resigned. "Even so, you inadvisedly protect me by not reporting my crime. You are even handing over command of the ship to me when I do not want it, when I do not _deserve_ it."

Jim is shaking his head frantically, lurching towards Spock but Spock doesn't seem to even _see_ him there anymore. Spock draws himself up, straightening his spine to near breaking point, jutting out his chin. Oh shit, _oh shit_ , Jim knows where this is going, he knows Spock is going to say that _he_ will leave instead, leave the Enterprise, _leave him forever_ -

" _Spock_ -"

"I will make amends. I will turn myself in to Starfleet for the sexual assault _I_ have committed against you, Captain. I should have done so as soon as we were back on board after being rescued, but I did not want to leave y-"

" _SPOCK_!"

Spock's upper arms are rigid as steel in Jim's panicked grasp.

"You listen to me, Spock!" Jim yells, glaring Spock in the eye and daring Spock to glance away. "You didn't harm or violate me. You didn't rape me! _You did not rape_ me. I gave my _consent_. Multiple times -"

"You were in heat, you were not in your right mind -"

Jim shakes Spock as hard as he can with both hands, scarcely shifting the obstinate, obviously _mistaken_ Vulcan.

"I remember every moment! Every. Single. Moment. I knew _exactly_ what was happening the whole time and _I_ _gave my consent_. You heard me, Spock. If you meant what you said earlier, that your mental faculties were fully intact at the time? _You heard me_." Jim squeezes his hands around the firm muscles of Spock's biceps over black silk. He inhales shakily, then sighs aloud. "If anything, _I'm_ the one who violated _you_. You said it yourself: pon'farr strips you of your mind, your logic. It strips you of your _control_ over yourself. _Neurochemical imbalances_ , Spock. Neurochemical imbalances that were messing with your body _and_ mind for _days_ before we were in that cell. I remember."

They stare into each other's eyes for seconds, for an infinity. Jim's breaths are tremorous and audible while the only hint that Spock's self-control is unstable in any way is the flaring of Spock's nostrils in a deep inhalation.

Haltingly, heedfully, Jim lifts his right hand to Spock's face. He's astonished that Spock is permitting him to touch that familiar, handsome, still heart-wrenchingly pale face, much less cup its left cheek in his palm. Spock's skin is as hot and smooth as he remembers it. Spock is simmering like a sun, like a meteor. Spock is staring unflinchingly into his eyes like he is staring into Spock's. Spock is … shivering.

"Then if I am wrong, tell me why you are leaving," Spock rasps, his luscious, green-tinged, supple lips moving a mere inch away from Jim's hand. "I am owed that much, Jim."

Jim's inhalation this time is even more shaky, one that sears his lungs like ice. He finds himself daring enough to stroke Spock's cheek with his thumb, and his anxious heart leaps in his chest when Spock doesn't tug his hand away even then, when Spock _leans_ into the touch.

There are _so_ many things that Spock has gotten wrong about him. Okay, he can't blame Spock for assuming he's a heterosexual guy, seeing as he's always been unreserved about vaunting his sexual exploits with Human females as well as extraterrestrial ones. He's used it to his advantage before in diplomatic conferences that required him to ply the charm on female emissaries and even princesses and queens, when new memberships into the Federation and new dilithium sources were at stake. He's been extremely covert about his sexual experiences with males, however. Never someone in Starfleet. Always a one night stand with a really low chance of meeting again. Always a Beta, not an Alpha with their goddamn rut pheromones.

So of course Spock wouldn't know. Of course Spock would assume he's straight instead of the pansexual man he is, even knowing now that he's an Omega and not an Alpha. Gender and sexuality are not the same thing.

But what the _hell_ was that about him being _coerced_ into having sex with Spock? About sacrificing himself solely to purge Spock of the pon'farr (to save Spock's life, _to save Spock's life_ )? If Jim had _not_ wanted to have sex with Spock, if Jim had been _disgusted_ like Spock wrongly thought, Jim wouldn't have _hurled himself at Spock_. He wouldn't have pounced on Spock like Spock was the most superb _feast_ in existence (and Spock really is that, and so much _more_ ). He would have fought off even a pon'farr-mad Spock, at least until they were rescued and Spock could have sex with _Uhura_ instead -

Uhura.

Oh god.

Jim drops his hand from Spock's face and takes a big step back, then another. Jim clasps his cold left hand with his trembling right hand in front of him in lieu of touching Spock elsewhere, _anywhere_. He bites his lower lip hard. He takes another step back.

He's thinking about lying. Lying so that Spock won't be burdened by him, so that Spock's life won't be _damned_ like his to be one of loneliness and regrets. He's thinking about going berserk, about chucking Spock out of his quarters and roaring at Spock to never come near him again, nevermind how outwardly irrational and blatantly _calculating_ that would be.

But if there's one thing Bones is right about him – and Bones is right about _many_ things about him – it's that Jim totally _sucks_ at lying when it comes to matters of his goddamn heart.

"I'm pregnant, Spock."

Jim had expected everything around him to abruptly implode into a black hole and engulf him in timeless, starless darkness upon saying those words to Spock. If he'd made Spock appear and feel shocked before, he's achieved a whole other level this time: on top of Spock's eyes going round and those highly angular eyebrows curving up to the hairline, Spock's lower jaw is sagging. Spock is _speechless_.

"I'm a pregnant Omega man who _lied_ about being an Alpha to Starfleet. There's only so long I can pretend to be one before my belly starts to _bulge_."

Spock closes his mouth and purses his lips. Spock stares at Jim. Stares and stares, then says hoarsely, "And the child is _mine_."

Jim's fingers tighten around each other, but he maintains eye contact with Spock.

"Yes," he whispers, as his arms begin to quiver, as his lower jaw, his whole _body_ begins to quiver -

"You would hide this from me." Spock's arms are now at his sides. Spock's hands are in fists and they're quivering too. "You would _flee_ from me and take _our child_ from me without _telling me_ -"

" _You're with Uhura_ , Spock!" Jim bellows, erupting into a furious flurry of flailing arms and pacing in front of Spock. "You're in love with _someone else_ , not me, _not me_! I _know_ that, okay?! You're in love with Uhura and _she's_ the one you wanna _mate_ with, to _bond_ with so I'm not going to _ruin_ that happiness for you, don't you understand that?! Don't you understand that I don't wanna be a fucking _burden_ for you?! That I'm _giving you a CHOICE_?!"

He lets loose a vicious kick at the nearest cargo box, causing it to glide across the floor and collide with the bed despite its book-laden weight. He instantly feels like a brat – the overgrown brat Bones always teases him to be – but his eyes are also stinging and brimming and he's finding it more and more difficult to just _breathe_ and -

"Rai," he hears Spock say distinctly, so _calmly_ and goddamn _quietly_.

Jim scrunches his eyes shut and continues to pace, crossing his arms over his heaving chest. Great, just _great_ , so Spock doesn't understand, Spock doesn't _understand_ that he's doing this for _Spock's own good_ , that Spock has his entire Starfleet career ahead of him and someone else he can have a _family_ with without being chained to some – some deceitful, disgusting Omega _slut_ like _him_ -

"Jim," Spock says distinctly, as if his name means _something_ to Spock, as if it means the universe to Spock, any and _all_ universes (and it just can't be, it can't because James Tiberius Kirk isn't _that_ lucky). "You have been laboring under many misapprehensions. Lieutenant Uhura and I terminated our romantic relationship 19.3 days ago. I am _not_ in love with her. She is _not_ the one I yearn to mate with, to _bond_ with. And you, Jim, my t'hai'la, are _not_ a burden. Never to me."

It takes a long time, a very long time for Spock's declaration to register on Jim's overwhelmed mind. When it does, Jim totters to a halt on weak legs and almost keels over on his face. He clutches at the side panel of the bookshelf. He blinks his eyes numerous times and gapes at Spock whose face is no longer blank or marble-cold or pale, whose face is turning green (in that sexiest of greens). Turning … radiant. Like a towering, evergreen oak welcoming the revered rays of dawn.

"You – you and Uhura … you're _not_ lovers anymore?"

"No, Jim. She and I have, in fact, not been sexually intimate for 6.8 months."

Jim has no idea what to say to that. He stays where he is as Spock takes one step towards him, gazing at him with eyes that seem to shine with a newfound, sun-lit brilliance from within.

"Truly, I have erred in not terminating my romantic relationship with her at least a year ago."

Jim blinks in bafflement.

"A _year_ ago? But that was when ..." Without taking his eyes off Spock's for a moment, Jim takes one step forward himself. "That was when I was recovering from the radiation poisoning."

"Yes."

Jim is tongue-tied once more, his mouth opening, then closing, then opening again when he finds the words he'd never believed he would ever say to Spock, certainly not in this reality.

"Even then?" he rasps, his hands loosening, his arms falling to his sides as the tension drains away from his body, his being. "You … you'd thought about me as a _friend_ too, even then? As _more_ than a friend, even then?"

"Jim, ki'nam-tor nash-veh heh kwon-sum dungau nam-tor t'hai'la t'du."

Jim understands what Spock says. He understands, but his mind is still reeling, _reeling_ from the multiple revelations that Spock has meted out and it's too much, it's _too much_. It's too good to be true.

"What does t'hai'la mean?" Jim takes another step, a wobbly one, nearer to Spock. "Tell me what it means."

"Jim, I have been and shall always be your friend," Spock replies, those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes so beautiful and _bright_. "Your life-long companion. And if you grant me the privilege, your lover, also."

Jim feels like the floor beneath his feet has completely vanished. He feels like he's flying. He feels like he's _flying_ , soaring and soaring among the stars and the planets and nebulae, never to crash on land again, never to be _trapped_ again.

It's too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, that Spock wants to be his companion for life. That Spock wants to be _his lover_. That Spock … loves him in return. That Spock loves him in return, and wants to do so _always_ -

"In that cell, you called me ashayam. You called me k'diwa. You called me the other half of your heart and soul." Jim stays where he is as Spock saunters towards him, gazing at him as if he means the universe to Spock, as if he _is_ the universe to Spock. "I had believed your words to be nothing more than a hallucination. I had believed my pon'farr to be so cruel as to torment me with hearing you speak so fluently in the language of my people, hearing your _vows_ , and knowing it was merely a dream. But, it was not a dream." Spock pauses, his eyes crinkling at the edges (as they will many times in the many years, _decades_ to come). "It is not a dream."

This time, it is Spock who reaches out with one hand, who touches and cups Jim's cheek in his palm. Jim gasps at the _spark_ of sensation upon contact, a spark that hadn't been there when he'd touched Spock's face. It's almost as if something - like lightning, like the golden beams of the sun - within Spock is trying to _merge_ with something within Jim, to grow _stronger_ and _lasting_. Is it the telepathic bond between them? This _t'hai'la_ _bond_ between them?

"Kal-tor nem-tor nash-veh wak afsakau kun-ut-so'lik," Spock murmurs. _Let me take this opportunity to declare kun-ut-so'lik_.

"Kun-ut-so'lik? What is that?" Jim asks with a hushed voice, gazing up at Spock.

"Aitlun t'nash-veh shetau katelausu t'du." _My desire to become your mate_.

Jim's mind is still reeling, reeling. Spock said that they're t'hai'la. Spock said that he wants to become his life-long companion, his lover. But to ask to be _his mate_ means -

"You're …" Jim sinks his teeth into his lower lip, and he sees Spock's eyes settle on his lips. He _feels_ Spock's gaze on his lips like a searing brand. "You're talking about me becoming your bondmate. You're talking about ... _marrying me_."

In response, Spock steps back, just enough that Spock can lift one arm between them. Spock is extending the index and middle fingers of his hand towards Jim and … yes, Jim remembers seeing this. He remembers Uhura offering her fingers the same way to Spock among the iridescent blossoms of the observation deck. Uhura first, every time. Never Spock. (Why didn't he notice that before?)

Jim lifts one hand with his index and middle fingers extended too. Spock doesn't comment on the way they're trembling as they brush against Spock's fingers. He gasps again at that _spark_ that passes between them, that kindles their skin, their flesh, their very atoms. He can see how affected Spock is by the mere contact: Spock's green flush has deepened, and so has the green tinge of Spock's still so very luscious lips. Spock's eyes are heavy-lidded, although now it is from indulgence. From gratification.

"What does this mean, Spock?" Jim murmurs, stroking Spock's fingers from tip to knuckle and back. "What is it?"

"It is the way Vulcans kiss," Spock replies as softly.

"So … every time when you've touched me with your fingers, does that mean you were actually kissing me?"

The crinkling around Spock's eyes becomes even more apparent (and Jim will learn, in the sun-warm days to come, that this is what a _happy_ Vulcan looks like, short of actually bowing up their lips). Jim shuts his eyes as Spock lifts the hand touching his fingers to his face instead, to caress his cheek with the back of those exquisite, adept, long fingers. Jim smiles with his lips, his teeth, his own crinkled eyes for both of them.

He opens his eyes to half-mast when Spock says his name once more.

Spock is so close. Spock is _so close_. All he has to do to cross the remaining distance between them is to surge forward and crash his mouth into Spock's, and now … he can. He _can_.

"Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, k'hat'n'dlawa," Spock says, caressing his face with those _exquisite_ fingers, kissing him the Vulcan way. "Tev-tor khaf-spol t'nash-veh tu-fam."

 _I cherish thee, half of my heart and soul. Without you, my heart languishes_.

This is the part where Jim should be grinning, maybe even smirking, puffing out his chest and shouting his _bliss_ for the whole damn universe to hear. This is the part where Jim should be seizing Spock's face to kiss Spock with his lips. This is the part where Jim should be dancing around like a nutball. Maybe even bounce off the walls for real like a rubber ball until Spock catches him and holds him safe from crashing on land.

But no, no, his _stupid hormones_ are making his eyes _sting_ and _brim_ and he can feel his face _contort_ and his lower jaw _quaver_ and for fuck's sakes, Spock just _has_ to go and cup the back of his head with one hand and draw him closer with the other and touch their foreheads together. He scrunches his searing eyes shut. Spock doesn't comment on the wetness forging glistening trails down his cheeks.

"Just – just … stand still, okay?" he whispers, pressing his forehead harder to Spock's, tangling the fingers of his right hand with Spock's left hand at their sides (and oh god, he must be full-on _making out_ with Spock the Vulcan way, squeezing Spock's hand so tight like he is). "I just want … I just want to remember. I want to remember every crystal-clear second of this. Right now. In memory."

Spock doesn't laugh. Spock doesn't ridicule him. Spock calmly and quietly and patiently stands with him. Spock has caught him, and Spock is holding him safe, making sure that he won't crash, making sure that everything will be all right.

Everything will be all right. Everything's all right. Everything.

Jim's eyes are dry and sore when they reluctantly part, just enough that they can gaze at each other.

"And they say Vulcans can't be romantic and feel nothing," Jim says, smiling, grinning, reining himself in from dancing, _dancing_ around the room and never stopping.

Spock gazes at him silently for a long while, scrutinizing his face from forehead to chin then back up to his eyes. Jim's smile softens but is no less luminous as he returns Spock's regard.

"Jim," Spock murmurs, "is it not a Western tradition on Earth that newly wedded Humans kiss each other with their lips?"

Jim swallows hard, but it is with damn near uncontrollable euphoria. There's nothing ridiculous about that, just like there's nothing ridiculous about Spock's long, lush eyelashes or the pointed tips of Spock's ears or Spock's prominent, stately nose and there really, _really_ is nothing ridiculous about Jim touching his forehead to Spock's once more, touching his lips to Spock's green-tinged, luscious, _welcoming_ lips for the second time. The second of many, many more kisses to come.

It's too good to be true. It's all too good to be true. But somehow, it _is_ true. Somehow, against all the odds in this reality, James Tiberius Kirk truly is the luckiest sonofabitch of _all time_.

"Nuh'mau-wak," Jim whispers into Spock's lips after many, many more kisses. _It has been too long since I last saw you_.

"I have always been here, Jim," Spock whispers back.

"I know," Jim replies, shutting his eyes, somehow smiling wryly and yet joyfully, "I know," and it's Jim saying sorry too, and Spock knowing it.

He hears Spock say, "Since that day in Engineering, since your death and your resurrection, you have lingered in all the corners of my mind. You became the light that dispelled the shadows in those corners. You became the light that helped me to see paths that I could not before, to tread them when I dared not to before."

He hears Spock murmur, "Since that day in that cell, since we mated and bonded and made love, I cannot pass a day without thinking about you. I cannot forget how you had appeared, how you had _sounded_ as you sprawled upon the tattered remains of our uniforms, our armor of clothes. I cannot forget how you had accepted me into your body, again and again. I cannot forget how you had slipped that bundle of clothing under my head, how you arranged me on the rock floor so I rested well. I cannot forget how kindly you had treated me when I awakened, helping me to dress, even after how I had treated you for days."

He hears Spock whisper, "And then, on the transporter pad, you smiled at me and you said not to worry, that things between us have not changed, that we were still just like we were before. I believed you had meant that you wanted neither of us to speak of or even acknowledge what had transpired between us. I believed you were ashamed of what we had done, that it must have been … humiliating for you to have been penetrated when you had gone to such lengths to hide your Omega status and so, I said nothing, when I should have said everything."

Jim rubs his forehead against Spock's, his eyes still shut. He cradles Spock's face with both hands. He feels Spock's arms around his shoulders, his waist, but in his mind, he's back in that cell, panting and burning up and straddling Spock's thighs with shaking legs. He's hearing Spock say those unfinished, fraught statements and now, _now_ he knows what Spock had been trying so damn hard to tell him then, with actions if not with lost words.

 _I … I cannot_ , Spock had yearned to say. _Not like this … no. I cannot._

 _Jim_ , Spock had yearned to say, _I cannot do this to you when you do not love me_.

What must it have been like for Spock, who believed that Jim didn't love him as more than a friend? What must it have been like for Spock, whose only choices were to have sex with Jim or die, believing that Jim was only sacrificing his body to save a friend yet again and nothing more?

What must it have been like for Spock ever since, believing that Jim found him disgusting and _disgraceful_ as a Vulcan? That Jim found him so offensive now that Jim was willing to keep his _baby_ a secret from him, that Jim would _leave him_?

It must have been hell. Absolute hell. An absolute hell of their own making.

"We are such idiots. Such _idiots_ ," Jim says, but he is also smiling softly because a hell that is made, as absolute as it can feel, can also be unmade.

"I did not want our first time to be violent and heartless. I wanted it to be an occasion of tenderness, a celebration of our fidelity to each other. I wanted your participation in it to be of your own full choice."

"But it was, Spock. It was."

"I saw the marks I'd left upon you as we dressed in that cell. I left even more bruises on you than the X'chigari did. I bit you and scratched you until you _bled_ -"

"And I loved _every_ moment of it." Jim rears back, gripping Spock's head more firmly so that Spock has to look him in the eye. "I _loved_ it. I loved that _you_ were the one doing all that to me. You were … taking me." Jim licks his lower lip, delighted at the flaring heat in Spock's eyes. "Claiming me. You were _claiming_ me, Spock. You have no _idea_ how much I'd hungered for that." His voice softens to a whisper. "How much I still do."

Jim slides his hands down from Spock's head to Spock's broad shoulders. Spock's hands, in turn, shift to his flanks and settle above the jut of his hips (that will be lost to his ballooning belly in the months ahead).

"And you, my Jim, have no idea how much I have hungered for _you_." Spock lowers his eyes in an almost demure fashion. "I … I confess, although I accused you of avoiding me by no longer playing chess with me, I am also guilty of this. I wished so much to accept your offer, to be in your quarters and spend time with you like we did before, but I could not trust myself to not … ambush you."

Jim tries very hard to not grin.

" _Ambush_ me, huh?" he asks, his lips tremoring with the effort.

Spock locks warms eyes with him again (and they really _are_ warm, like sunshine through his window).

"You are an exceedingly attractive Human, in body and mind and soul. Surely you are aware of your pulchritudinous face."

Okay, for that, knowing that the most important person of all _does_ find his face to be a very, very handsome face, he'll grin. He can grin all he wants, damnit. Especially now -

"Jim. I must also confess, I am still … disconcerted that you had decided to conceal our child from me."

Jim's grin diminishes to a melancholic smile, but it is no less loving. He drags his fingers through Spock's immaculate, space-black hair and strokes the curved, pointed rim of Spock's left ear. (Hey, does this mean he's making out with Spock's _hair_ and _ear_ right now?)

"It … it _seemed_ like the best decision, at the time. I didn't know what I know now about you. About us. I thought, if I told you about the baby, you would have felt _obligated_ to provide for the baby. You would have been _trapped_ with me just because of the baby, and you would have … resented me." He presses the pads of his fingers to Spock's parting lips, quietening Spock's protests. "I wanted you to have a _choice_ , Spock. To not be … dragged down by me in life."

Spock reaches up to gently pull his hand down and away from those luscious, green-tinged, so _very_ supple lips.

"If you did wish to give me a choice, it would have been logical to tell me as soon as you learned of your pregnancy. Would it not?" Spock says, without judgment, with his hand grasped in both of Spock's. "Instead, I was given none at all, as I did not have the pertinent and essential knowledge necessary to make one."

Now it is Jim who lowers his eyes.

"I'm a selfish asshole," he says offhandedly, but Spock isn't fooled (and he never will be, not after tonight).

"No." Spock releases his hand and tips his head up with a forefinger under his chin. "Just a golden, explosive and exceptionally bright Human who illogically and unreasonably believes he does not deserve to be loved or to be blessed, when the opposite is true."

Well, there goes Spock again, cutting to the quick, catching him when he falls, even when it is at his own hand. He finds himself tongue-tied for the third time. He finds himself choked up even as he's trying hard to not smile with his lips as well as his eyes. He feels the warmth of Spock's hand hovering over his belly. After Jim nods, Spock rests his palm on the slight swell of his belly over his black t-shirt, spreading those long fingers across it. Jim is acutely aware of the contact, even through his shirt. He places his own hand over Spock's and oh, _oh_ , there's that wave of warmth emanating from his belly again and it's -

Jim gazes at Spock's green-flushed, composed face, at Spock's crinkled, _awestruck_ eyes. It's … the wave of warmth that's making Spock look like that. The wave of warmth is _real_.

"Spock, I'm not imagining the warmth inside my abdomen. Am I?"

"No, Jim. It is our baby projecting emotion telepathically. At this stage of pregnancy, their vital organs such as the brain are already functioning, but our baby can only communicate the most rudimentary of emotions, like comfort and contentment. With time, as they become more aware of their environment and the world beyond the womb, they will be able to project more emotions, even urges like hunger."

Well, _fuck_. Talk about his stupid, _stupid_ hormones shooting up and making his eyes and his heart _burn_ again.

"Wow," Jim rasps, blinking, pressing his hand on Spock's over where their baby (their baby, _their baby_!) is. "I didn't expect that."

"Understandable. My people can be cryptic regarding numerous issues about our physiology and biology to outworlders."

Jim is tempted to say, _that's one hell of an understatement_. Instead, after several tranquil minutes of just grasping Spock's hand to his belly and basking in more waves of warmth from their baby, he says, "You were wrong about the bond, you know."

Spock glances sharply at him, hand still pressed to his belly, but says quietly, "Explain."

Jim caresses the ridges of the top of Spock's hand as he replies, "I dunno where you got the idea that I don't want it, that I wouldn't want it." Jim rolls his eyes, mostly at himself. "Well, okay, I _kinda_ get why you'd think that, seeing as you thought I was straight -which I'm not, I'm pansexual – and that I would never be attracted to you, which is _ridiculous_ , but, still ..."

"Still?" Spock prompts (and Jim can see Spock already noting down that tidbit of information about him into his vast, eidetic memory banks).

"I was so … _happy_ , Spock. When you told me the telepathic bond between us exists." Jim aims wide eyes at Spock. "It still _does_ , right? It still exists? This t'hai'la bond? I mean, I could feel it when we were in that cell, when my heat was going away. It was like this ... _tingling_ in the back of my head. Like this _presence_ shaped like you. But after we got back on the ship, I felt … alone again. Was I just imagining it, or what?"

Spock is now staring at him with those crinkled, awestruck eyes, as if Jim has just told him something unbelievable.

"What?" Jim asks, smiling softly at Spock.

"Whenever my father mindmelded with my mother, it would cause her physical pain in the form of headaches if the meld lasted for more than six minutes. She was also psi-null, and could not detect my father's mental presence in her mind when they were not in a mindmeld." Spock studies Jim's face, then asks, "Have you experienced any headaches in the past 3.6 months that cannot be explained? Or earlier?"

"Yeah. I have, actually." Jim lifts his right hand to his own right temple and taps it twice with a forefinger. "They're not _painful_. Just … I dunno how to explain it. It's like, I can feel an _emptiness_ where there should be something really ... _important_ in the back of my head, I guess. So the headaches I get are like some _echo_ from that empty space when I … poke it. With a mental finger. Or something. Does that even make sense?"

Oh, Spock's eyes are crinkling even more.

"Jim, the mental bond between us still exists. Only a Vulcan healer can safely break a bond," Spock says. "And yes, you did make sense. You have just described the experience of feeling a strong bond being shielded from you. You can sense our baby's telepathic projections as well. Spock tilts his head (and oh god, now that action is even _more_ adorable to Jim). "You are _not_ psi-null."

That indomitable, _ecstatic_ thing in the left side of Jim's chest _leaps_. All humans, whether they're Alpha, Beta or Omega, are psi-null by default. Until Spock's mother, a Beta Human, married Sarek, a Vulcan with telepathic abilities, there were no recorded instances of a Human experiencing or using telepathy. She was the first person in both Human and Vulcan history to bond and mindmeld with a Vulcan, and also give birth to a half-Human half-Vulcan being with telepathic abilities. _Powerful_ telepathic abilities. More powerful than those of most of the _six billion_ other Vulcans who'd lived before Nero came along. (As chagrined as Jim would be to admit this to Spock, he'd learned about that after hacking into Spock's Starfleet records and also whatever records he could crack in New Vulcan's databases.)

What would a mental bond – a t'hai'la bond that spontaneously formed and is the rarest and most honored by Vulcans, no less – with a telepathic being as powerful as _that_ be like in the long run? What would a bond like that _do_ to a Human's brain? And is it possible that his Starfleet ESP tests were wrong all along, then, that this bond between him and Spock could have formed in the first place? _Can_ he and Spock have a fulfilling telepathic bond after all? One without pain like that suffered by Spock's mother?

The only way for them to know is to _try_. (To make _history_ while they're at it.)

"In the throes of my pon'farr, when we were -"

"Fucking? Mating?" Jim says, displaying a wide-eyed, innocent expression, his heart still beating excitedly. "Doing the horizontal tango? Being the beast with two backs?"

Spock raises an eyebrow at him, but those deep brown eyes are still crinkled.

"When we were in sexual congress, I had wished to mindmeld with you. The only reason I resisted was because I … could not bear knowing for a certainty that you did not and could not love me as more than a friend."

"Aw, babe," Jim murmurs without thinking. "You are sweet."

Again, Spock raises his eyebrow, even higher.

"Jim, I am an adult, not a kan-bu. And Vulcans are not … sweet."

Jim smiles widely. Then, he drags his tongue across his lower lip, gazing at Spock from under his eyelashes.

" _Mmm_ , no, I'm gonna have to disagree there, Spock," he says huskily. "I got to _taste_ you, remember?" He licks his lips again, slowly, purposefully. "That must have been some hardcore porn for you, huh, when I licked your _pre-come_ off my _fingers_?"

For that, Spock yanks him to those green-tinged, luscious, oh so _luscious_ lips and kisses the living daylights out of him with them, pushing that flexible, hot tongue into his open mouth, licking his teeth and his lips and robbing him of his breath and balance. For _that_ , Jim seizes one of Spock's hands and strokes those fucking exquisite, adept, long fingers with his own, slipping and skimming his fingers between Spock's while Spock continues to blow his mind with Human kisses. He runs the fingers of his free hand through Spock's chest hair ( _finally_!) exposed by the low v-collar of Spock's tunic, luxuriating in its velvety lushness. He feels more of those sparks dancing across his skin, _inside_ his skin wherever they touch and grind. He probably makes some embarrassing noises now and then into Spock's volcanic mouth, but from the way Spock is clutching at the nape of his neck, at his roving fingers, Spock probably doesn't give a damn.

Jim is unsurprised, however, when Spock eventually and reluctantly separates their mouths but not their hands, letting the fire subside to a simmer once more. Crazy as it must be for a man of his sexual reputation to think, to _want_ , he'd rather not rush things either. He doesn't want to just jump into bed with Spock when there's so _much_ they still need to discuss, to resolve. This isn't just another one night stand to him. This is the Real Deal. This is a _Forever_ Deal. And he's … he's really fine with that. God, he really is. (How the hell did he get this _lucky_? How?)

He swoops in and steals one last Human kiss from Spock before stepping back so he can give Spock a once-over, still clasping Spock's hand in his. Although Spock's face is appealingly flushed now, it still looks gaunt. The half-circle shadows are still there under Spock's eyes. Jim knows that Vulcans can go for _weeks_ without sleeping before it starts to become detrimental to their physical and mental health, so for Spock to appear visibly exhausted is … not a good thing.

"So, you're still shielding yourself from me," Jim says, pointing out the sehlat in the room. (Hey, he's pretty much _married_ to a Vulcan now, nothing wrong with him mixing up Human and Vulcan idioms and things now and then.)

Once again, Spock is lowering his eyes, shuttering them from Jim.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Spock looks him in the eye again, because he deserves that as Spock's friend. And life-long companion. And _lover_. (Holy shit, he doubts that revelation will ever get old.)

"Jim, despite tonight's unexpected but very welcomed developments in our relationship, I understand that Humans may find the mental presence of someone else in their mind to be … perturbing. I know that you value your privacy and that, as a Human, your thoughts and emotions have always been yours alone to experience unless you share them through speech, the written word or physical motion. I am shielding in respect of that Human solitude."

Jim lets go of Spock's hand to cradle the side of Spock's jaw in his palm. He strokes his thumb across Spock's warm lower cheek. He now sees the fine lines of fatigue at the corners of Spock's eyes and around Spock's lips. He sees how much sharper Spock's cheekbone is. He sees the green tint of the whites of Spock's eyes.

"You look so tired," Jim murmurs. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Spock remains silent. Spock does not deny this.

Jim stares at Spock, and his expression hardens into a chastening one, the face of a stern captain.

"You're like this _because_ of the shielding. Aren't you?"

Spock remains silent. Spock does not deny this either.

"Spock, you're _hurting_ yourself -"

"Jim. Ashayam." When Jim quietens and his expression softens, Spock says, "I believed that if I informed you about the bond, you would feel … obligated to me and to the bond simply for the sake of my wellbeing." When Jim smiles wryly at the deliberate pause, at the irony of his own words said back to him, Spock adds, "While it is true that the shielding has been affecting me negatively for the past 2.7 weeks, I will not drop the shield unless it is with your direct permission."

"Then … what's this _electric_ sensation between us I've been feeling? Whenever you touch me?"

Oh, there's that lovely green flush spreading across Spock's familiar, handsome face once more.

"After realizing that you love me in return and are in love with me, I have found it increasingly challenging to maintain the shield at optimum levels. I am sorry, Jim -"

"Don't. Don't apologize, definitely not for _this_." Jim enfolds his arms tightly around Spock and presses his face to the side of Spock's long neck, against Spock's pulse hammering there. Then he raises his head to look Spock in the eye as he says, "I want you to completely drop the shield and open up the bond. I want a taroon-ifla with you, Spock. I want a mindmeld with you. I want to feel you in my mind."

He sees Spock shut those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes for a moment, as if Spock has to regain his composure upon hearing his statements. When Spock opens his eyes again, Spock is already reaching for Jim's face with his hand. Jim's lips curl at the ends in a restrained smile as Spock's fingertips settle on key locations down the left side of his face.

He gazes into Spock's crinkled, warm eyes. He reaches up to touch Spock's face too, stroking Spock's cheek with the pads of his fingers while Spock's other hand grasps his wrist.

"Open it. Let me in," Jim whispers with zeal. "Gluva'voh n'nash-veh!" _Show me_!

And Spock does.

The transition into what Jim will come to recognize as their shared mindspace is so smooth and effortless that for a microsecond, he thinks that something has gone wrong. He finds himself looking down at an endless desert of red, sizzling sand from high in a pellucid sky at noon. He finds himself staring with awe and fascination as fountains of clear, fresh water jet from the sand and splash and coil into deluging rivers that then call forth green-leafed, purple-stemmed sprouts from the sand. Dozens then hundreds then _thousands_ of them, springing up as far as Jim can see, growing and growing and _growing_ and transforming into gigantic, lofty trees whose gnarled branches stretch towards him as if in supplication, in _worship_.

He gasps at the ethereal, alien beauty of it all.

He gasps again when he realizes what he's actually looking at, what he's _seeing_.

{Spock,} he says, and it's both shocking and exhilarating to hear his own mental voice so distinctly for the first time. It sounds very much like his speaking voice, but in here, there's a _resonance_ to it that deepens it.

{Jim.}

Oh, wow. Spock's mental voice is even lower and more resonant than his speaking voice. Even _more_ sensual (if that's possible). And he can … he can hear the _love_ in Spock's voice so palpably. He can _feel_ Spock's love for him, utterly unadulterated and _true_.

{This is us,} Jim murmurs, watching more green-leafed, purple-trunked trees taller and larger than the Redwoods of California shoot up from the sand, watching their branches unfurl in the air and wave with the breeze, wave at him.

Jim senses an enormous blanket of warmth wrap around him, like being swathed in summer sunshine, and he realizes that this is Spock literally bundling him up in Spock's love for him. It's unbelievable. It's spectacular, and humbling, so very humbling for an Omega Human man who thought he would have been dead and buried and forgotten by all before turning twenty-one.

He tugs close the warm blanket of Spock's love and affection for him. He spins and soars and laughs to his heart's content, and shafts of sunlight scatter across the canopy of the boundless forest below him.

{This is home,} Jim thinks, knowing that Spock can read his thoughts and rejoicing in that fact. {This is home that I'll always have.}

The blanket of warmth around him grows hotter, like a soothing hot water bottle against an old ache.

{So, 0.523%, huh?}

{I had erroneously made my previous calculations on the assumption that you did not and could not possibly love me as a bondmate.}

Jim smiles tenderly, and another shaft of sunlight cascades down on the dense forest below.

{So what did the 0.523% represent?}

{It was … the minuscule spark of hope that the universe would prove me wrong.}

Jim tries a hand at projecting emotion. He feels it radiating from him as a rolling wave of warmth similar to the one swaddling him, to the one he feels from their baby. Somehow, he knows that their baby is asleep right now, that their baby won't be able to join them in a mindmeld for years yet.

{Spock, you _feel_ so _much_. You just never show it on your face.}

Somehow, Jim also knows now that neither he or Spock can lie in a mindmeld.

{My people have always harbored intense emotions, Jim. We were enslaved to them, until Surak and his teachings provided a new way of living and advancing.}

{Well, I'm glad his teachings have endured, Spock. I'm glad _you_ endure. I wouldn't want you to be any other way than the way you are.}

The warm blanket of Spock's love around him should have felt stifling. Instead, he can't get enough of it, no matter how deeply he burrows himself in it. He thinks that it'll probably take him a lifetime to burrow to the very core of Spock's emotions. He thinks he'll be happy to stay there when he gets there, surrounded by everything Spock, everything beautiful and real and necessary.

{So, Mister Spock, now how good do you think our chances are of having the most awesome, fearsome, cuddlesome, lissome bond in the entire universe?}

{Jim, I do not think Vulcan mental bonds can be _cuddlesome_ -}

{Well, I think they can be and I think _you're_ cuddlesome so _there_.}

{That is not a logical argument.}

{You know I can _feel_ you smiling in here, right?}

Jim is smiling himself, soaring across the never-ending, evergreen canopy of the flourishing forest that is Spock.

{Vulcans do not smile.}

{And let me guess, Vulcans don't feel anything either, much less love someone with all their heart, right?}

{Correction, my Jim: to love you with all though only my heart is illogical, as it would be a waste of the rest of my body as well as my soul that also love you. And to answer your question, I calculate a 100% chance of us having the most awesome, fearsome, cuddlesome, lissome bond in the entire universe.}

And great, _just_ great, since he can't lie or _hide_ in here, Spock knows just how touched he is by the sincere, sweet declaration.

{What, no decimal point, Spock?}

{Unnecessary. To have a decimal point suggests that our chances are less than 100%, which then suggests that there is any possibility at all that I will not love you for the rest of my life and beyond.}

Jim finds himself unable to even respond with words. He projects more rolling waves of warmth, of love, and he sees the waves flood their shared mindspace as more sunshine upon the forest, calling forth more trees and rivers, calling forth more life and _hope_.

Whatever happens from now on, he and Spock will have this. They will always have this.

When he opens his eyes an eon later, Jim finds himself on his side on his bed, facing Spock. Spock still has those exquisite, adept, long fingers pressed to the side of his face. Spock's eyes are partially open, but that's all Jim can tell because his own eyes are brimming and spilling and he is smiling, smiling anyway. He clasps Spock's hand with his own. He slips his fingers between Spock's in a Vulcan kiss. He presses his lips to the center of Spock's palm.

Yeah, he can think up a million alternate realities, he knows that. But he doesn't need any of them. He never did. This reality is the only one he wants, the only one he _needs_.

"Dungi-hafau tu k'nash-veh ha?" Jim whispers, holding Spock's hand to his damp, beaming face. _You'll stay with me_?

And Spock, whose own eyes are glistening and crinkled too, whispers back, "Abi'maut-shaht, t'hai'la." _Until the very end, my soulmate, my everything_.

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jim t'nash-veh, ashal-veh," Jim now knows Spock had whispered into the skin of his throat, as Spock mouthed at the mound of his Adam's apple, as Spock caressed the back of his head and carded those exquisite, adept long fingers through his mussed-up hair, as Spock slid in and out of him with a dreamy, pleasant pace, slid in and in and _in_ , never to leave again. "Ri dungi fai-tor du uf mau ashau n'du."

 _My Jim, my darling, you will never know how much I love you_.


	2. My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is turning out a little longer than I expected, so here I am posting what I've already completed so far. And what do we have? 
> 
> Klingons! BAMF Spock! Hubba hubba! And more Bones! Sarek! And Spock Prim- uh, I mean, Selek! 
> 
> Also, I have been advised to warn you all about the MAJOR Spirk feels you are going to get while reading this update. There ya go. Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Thank you so much for all the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and kind comments! I appreciate them all. I'll get down to replying once I finish the final update. I hope to be able to complete this story before or by Christmas.
> 
> P.S.S. The birth and many baby moments will be in the next update.

Of course it's when Jim and Spock have figured things out between them that goddamn Klingons decide to attack the Enterprise in some audacious attempt to hijack it, trying to fuck Jim's newfound happiness with a freaking bat'leth.

Well, they can _try_.

Just an hour after his first mindmeld with Spock, Jim and his incredible, tried-and-true crew are battling the worm-munching, bumpy-headed dickwads in a pandemonium of photon torpedoes exchanged between the Enterprise and the Klingons' (fugly, clunky, gaudy) Negh'Var-class warship. Somehow the _dickwads_ have discovered a way to create holes in a starship's shields without being detected by their scanners, leading to an armed confrontation with a dozen Klingon warriors in the main shuttle bay while his beloved babe (the ship, not the Vulcan this time) is persistently fired upon and rocked and _damaged_.

Jim is there with a full security team behind him, firing away with their phasers when Spock – who'd mysteriously disappeared during the stampede to the shuttle bay from the bridge – arrives at the scene with what Jim will learn is a lirpa. Or as Jim would call it, the most badass and stylish-looking Vulcan melee weapon he's ever seen in his life, a sturdy metal staff with a fan-shaped, razor-sharp blade on one end and an intimidating, pointed club on the other end. In Spock's exquisite, adept, long-fingered, _strong_ hands, it's a terrifying thing to behold.

So is the fiery, formidable gleam in Spock's unblinking, intense eyes.

"You dare challenge us to close combat? You think you will _win_?" the fugly, armored Klingon standing at the forefront of the invading party howls at Spock, at Jim and their trusty security team. "tlhIngan maH!"

Jim is guessing that's Klingon for, _we are Klingons who'll kick your asses to Qo'noS and back_! He prefers to interpret it as, _we are lung-chewing, blood pie-eating assholes with seriously bad timing and fashion sense_!

Jim doesn't miss the fact that while Spock has put a distance of over six feet between them, Spock has also planted himself in front of him, standing between him and the Klingons instead of at his side. Part of Jim is irked by this, by Spock being so brazenly and overly protective when _he_ is the captain of the Enterprise and _he_ is the one who should be in front of Spock and his crew. The rest of Jim is going _gaga_ at Spock letting the ancient Vulcan warrior spirit of his ancestors arise and manifest itself for all to witness. And fear.

Spock's head is held high and dignified. His shoulders are squared. His feet are ten inches apart. He grips the lirpa horizontally and balanced with both hands.

"Nam-tor nash-veh Vuhlkansu," Jim hears Spock reply steadfastly. "Ri dungi-vravshau."

 _I am Vulcan. I will not fail_.

If this wasn't the life-or-death situation that it is, Jim would have leaped on Spock by now and torn off his clothes and screamed, "TAKE ME NOW, YOU VIRILE, POINTY-EARED _SEX-BEAST_!" Not that he hasn't already _actually_ leaped on Spock and torn off his clothes at least once by now, but hey -

"Nuqjathl?" the same fugly, armored Klingon grunts.

Jim is guessing that's Klingon for, _what was that sexy, provocative, impressive Vulcan you said to me that my puny, worm-riddled brain is incapable of processing_?

Jim doesn't get a word in. He doesn't even get to join the ensuing skirmish with his commander (his friend, his life-long companion, his lover, his _bondmate_ ). Approximately one minute and sixteen seconds after the Klingon grunts like the worm-munching, bumpy-headed, lung-chewing, blood pie-eating dickwad that he is, Spock has _decimated_ the entire Klingon invading party, leaving them strewn and sprawled on the floor of the shuttle bay, groaning in pain or knocked out cold.

Spock was so _swift_ that many of the Klingons couldn't aim their disruptor rifles or lift their mek'leths before Spock sent them _flying_ through the air with the lirpa's club or slashed them with the fan-shaped blade. Spock spun and swung the lirpa as if it weighed nothing. Spock vaulted and rolled and charged at the Klingons as if they were nothing. Spock slammed them down and broke their bones and made their lavender blood spray as if they weren't the most notorious, toughest, ruthless warriors in the known galaxy.

In that one minute and sixteen seconds, those notorious, tough, ruthless Klingons were shrieking in _terror_ as Spock set his sexy-as- _fuck_ , courageous, determined Vulcan warrior self upon them. Shrieking crap like, "mev! HIQaH! QaH!" and "qaStaH nuq jay'?!"

Jim is guessing all that is Klingon for, _holy fucking gagh in stinky targ_ _piss, what the fuck is happening, what,_ _stop it you frightening, berserk, hot Vulcan, help, HELP_!

Spock made Klingons freak out like that. Spock made _Klingons groan in pain_.

Jim is so turned on right now that he has to lock his knees in place so that he doesn't rush over to Spock and do something stupid like kiss the amazing, noble, loyal, still so incomparable Vulcan in front of the shell-shocked, open-mouthed security team huddled together in united spectatorship. Cupcake's lower jaw is _this_ close to touching the floor from awe and not a small amount of veneration. Who can blame them all for gaping at Spock like Spock is the hottest and mightiest, green-flushed, adorably pointy-eared champion in the universe?

And Spock is his. All his. For _life_.

Jim takes a step towards Spock, unable to resist the tug of his bondmate's presence.

That's when all the Klingons are beamed out of the shuttle bay before their very eyes, leaving behind lavender splashes on the floor and - holy crap, is that a _dismembered forearm still clutching a mek'leth_?

That's when Sulu, who's been helming the bridge in Jim's stead, pops up on the shuttle bay's intercom screen to say, "Captain, I can't believe I'm saying this but … the Klingon warship is retreating."

After gawking at the dismembered arm for several more seconds (along with everyone else except Spock), Jim strides over to the intercom and says with not a small amount of incredulity, " _Retreating_?"

"Yes, sir. And -" Sulu glances to the side and off-screen for a few moments, then turns back to face Jim with a flabbergasted expression. "And Lieutenant Uhura just received a message from the Klingon warship. She's translating it right now, but she says -" Again, Sulu glances to the side and off-screen, then back to Jim, his eyes even wider and eyebrows even higher up his forehead. "Apparently, the captain of that particular warship has a, uhm, _thing_ for a _princess_ directly descended from the Imperial Family but the princess, _uh_ , doesn't like him back. And _apparently_ , with the exception of his henchmen, _nobody_ on board that ship likes him. Which is why they've mutinied and beamed him and his henchmen back to their ship to haul them back to Qo'noS. On direct orders of the Klingon High Council. Which happens to be headed by the princess' _dad_."

Jim's own eyebrows have shot up his forehead.

"Are you telling me these bumpy-headed dickwads attacked my ship because their captain wanted to _win over his royal princess crush's heart_?"

"Yes, sir, it seems like it," Sulu replies, now smiling with amusement. "The message also says that the attack was solely the captain's idea. He'd hoped to _wow_ her enough by capturing the legendary Enterprise as a gift for her."

Jim makes a semi-impressed face, which makes Sulu's smile expand with even more amusement.

"Well, okay. I'm big enough a guy to give some kudos where it counts, even if it's to an asshole Klingon who hurt my beautiful ship," Jim says. "Go big or go home, right?"

Again, Sulu glances to the side and off-screen, then faces Jim once more and says, "And ... P.S., they also said they're gonna throw themselves a banquet of bloodwine and gagh in honor of, and I quote, 'your majestic, mad Vulcan warrior they would be honored to have in their Defense Forces'." Sulu snickers and shakes his head. "Wow! Never thought I'd hear those words to describe a Vulcan, much less by _Klingons_. What did Commander … Spock … do ..."

That's when Sulu finally glances past Jim at Spock and the lavender carnage of the Klingons' failed invasion and yeah, there goes Sulu's lower jaw and there go Sulu's eyes, just like everyone else who are still gaping at Spock and his badass, stylish lirpa. (And uh, maybe still at the dismembered arm too.)

Spock is once again standing still with his feet apart and his arms relaxed and straight, his hands gripping the lirpa horizontally in front of him. The lirpa's blade is coated in viscous lavender. More viscous lavender smears the lirpa's club. Some of it has streaked across the blue of Spock's tunic.

"Fascinating," Spock simply says, raising one highly angular eyebrow, as if he'd just had a cup of Vulcan spice tea and a plate of crispy prusah kisan and wants to play chess now.

The entire security team stares at Spock and says nothing. Jim, on the other hand, is almost _bursting_ with pride and affection for his Vulcan (his, _his_!) who'd singlehandedly dealt with _a dozen bloodthirsty, armed Klingons_. Jim gives his Vulcan a look that's probably blaring to everyone present, _I love you so fucking much that it hurts me down to the tiniest cell in my bone marrow_. (And he doesn't give a damn.) Then Jim turns back to the intercom, clears his throat, nods at Sulu and says deadpan, "What he said."

Hours later, Jim has been updated of his magnificent, abiding ship's status by a rattled Scotty and his engineers, checked with Bones in sickbay for stats on wounded crew members, and completed his briefing with Starfleet that amounted to being ordered to immediately bring the Enterprise back to Spacedock for urgent repairs to the busted photon torpedo launchers, battered armor and worrying hole in the ventral starboard side of the hull. (Thank fuck for structural integrity fields, is what Jim can say.) Incredibly, no one died and only sixty-two crew members of the thousand-plus on board were injured.

Incredibly, the Enterprise is to remain at Spacedock for repairs for at least six months or more.

Six months or _more_.

Which means … he can carry his baby to term on Earth while the Enterprise is out of commission. He can stay in San Francisco, just like he planned. He can stay in San Francisco _with Spock_. Spock isn't just going to _be there_ for him and the baby, Spock is going to be there for them no matter where they choose to go. (Heck, he'll be willing to live on _New Vulcan_ for the duration of the pregnancy and birth, if that's what Spock wants.) If his pregnancy and the birth go well, his baby will be at least a month old by the time the Enterprise is ready for sailing with its incredible, tried-and-true crew again.

That's, of course, on the assumption that Starfleet won't just fire him as the Enterprise's captain and kick him out posthaste for lying about his Omega status. Being Spock's bondmate (holy _shit_ , that will never get old) will now guarantee him automatic protections under Vulcan laws, however. He knows enough that he and their baby will be recognized as citizens of New Vulcan, that stipulations in the Federation Charter and the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets extend those protections to Earth regardless of the New Vulcan citizen's species or place of birth. Even Starfleet can't separate him and Spock if he somehow keeps his job, not without New Vulcan going all pre-Surak on their asses for splitting up bondmates. And for splitting up _t'hai'la_ bondmates? If the New Vulcan High Command is anything like Spock was in the fight with the Klingons, Jim suspects Starfleet Command won't know what _hit_ them.

All this calls for a fucking celebration. Literally.

"Mister Spock," he says, standing up from his seat behind his desk, the viewscreen on the desk darkened and in hibernation after the briefing with Starfleet.

Spock has just entered his quarters from their shared bathroom, having taken a sonic shower to clean himself of Klingon blood after stowing away that badass, stylish lirpa again. (He has _got_ to ask Spock about it sometime.) Spock is wearing those black and loose silk pants again, but nothing above the waist. For the first time since his heat and Spock's pon'farr, Jim is granted the opportunity to ogle Spock's nude torso without his heat burning up his brain and body. Spock is somehow even _more_ gorgeous than Jim remembers, with those broad shoulders and furry chest and flat, green-tinged nipples and those deceptively lean muscles that can send a dozen, armed Klingons into pain and unconsciousness with dexterous, energetic movements. Even Spock's _navel_ is somehow endearing to Jim, an innie that Jim wants to stick his tongue into and nuzzle.

"Captain," Spock says with that low, resonant, sensual voice, gazing at him with crinkled, deep brown eyes.

"What you did in the shuttle bay?" Jim says, standing straight-faced and motionless, gazing back at Spock. "That was so hot. So. Fucking. Hot."

Spock tilts his head in that supremely adorable way. Spock doesn't deny what he's said.

"Which means, _Mister Spock_ , that if your cock isn't balls-deep inside me in the next five minutes, I'm going to make you watch me jerk myself off and come all over myself while I scream your name."

Spock accomplishes his assigned task in 3.2 minutes. In that time, Spock yanks him from behind his desk to his ( _their_?) bed, tears off his gold tunic and black t-shirt and pants ( _literally_!), then kisses him the Human way on his lips until he's pulling at Spock's hair and arching off the bed in desperation to grind himself against Spock's sun-hot body. He's already panting and moaning low, his cock hard as tritanium as Spock kisses him the Vulcan way upon his sensitive nipples then the slight mound of his belly, then his throbbing cock that twitches and spurts out pre-come, then his already slick-soaked hole, sliding those exquisite, adept, long, _long_ fingers inside him to stretch him and rub and knead his prostate.

Spock, now also naked, stares at his face as he moans louder and wriggles on the bed sheets and claws at the pillow under his head and _squeezes_ around Spock's fingers. (Oh god, is Spock technically kissing him _inside his ass_ right now?) Heat or not, his prostate is damn sensitive to touch, in the very best way and oh god, _oh god_ , it's like Spock knows _exactly_ how to massage it to drive him into a fucking _frenzy_ , rubbing it _hard_ and then pushing those exquisite fingers in deeper, then pulling them back to rub his tingling prostate in pitiless circles, over and over and _over_ -

"For your information, ashayam," Spock says so goddamn calmly and quietly like he doesn't have three fingers in Jim's slick, stretched and _ravenous_ hole, "I am also a touch telepath. I am able to estimate your erogenous zones simply by touching you and sensing your pleasure."

Jim scrunches his eyes shut and grabs the pillow under his head with both hands and _moans_. Oh, fuck, it's too good, it feels too good, he's going to die, oh _fuuuucck_ -

"Jim," he hears Spock say hoarsely. "I must be inside you now."

"Yes, yes, fuck, _yes_!"

He peels his eyes open and scrabbles at Spock's arms and chest with both hands. He spreads his thighs and flings up his legs onto Spock's shoulders, framing Spock's bowed body with them. He drags Spock's head down to his so he can look at Spock's face up-close, so he can look into Spock's big, brilliant, intense, beautiful eyes when Spock thrusts inside him.

"This is our first time, Spock," Jim rasps, cupping Spock's green-flushed cheeks with both hands. "An occasion of tenderness. A celebration of our fidelity to each other. And this is me, telling you loud and clear that I'm in this of my own full choice. With you. _Always_."

Jim keeps his eyes peeled open as Spock pushes into him to the hilt. Spock feels so good, so good, as good as when he was in his heat and Spock was in his pon'farr. Spock stares back at him with crinkled, warm, _ardent_ eyes that say so much, that have always said so much when the rest of Spock's face couldn't. Jim lets out a rapturous groan when Spock can't go in any deeper, when Spock is as close to him as can be, short of merging their bodies completely, their -

"Spock," he murmurs, "can we mindmeld _now_? While we're ..."

"Yes, Jim," Spock murmurs back, staying immobile inside him.

Jim seizes Spock's right hand and presses Spock's fingers to the left side of his face and temple in unabashed behest.

"My mind to your mind," Spock whispers.

"My thoughts to your thoughts," Jim whispers.

This time, when Spock glides into his mind and he into Spock's, he is somehow seeing at the same time the verdant, boundless, sunlit forest of their mindscape while seeing Spock above him and between his legs in reality. It should have been disorienting, unnerving even. Instead, it feels so _right_ , as if this is how he and Spock simply _are_.

Jim begins to laugh as Spock vigorously thrusts into him. He laughs and lowers his legs to Spock's waist and hugs Spock tightly with his arms and legs. He laughs and watches shafts of sunshine sprinkle across leagues and leagues of green-leafed, purple-trunked forest. He laughs and laughs, and Spock doesn't laugh, Spock doesn't ridicule him. In their mindspace, Spock is _gratified_ and Jim can _feel_ it. Jim can feel Spock's pleasure too, feel Spock's long, thick, still so damn lovely double-ridged cock sliding in and out of him as if it's his own, feel his own inner muscles clamping around Spock's cock with every thrust in and oh fuck, _ooh god_ , his pleasure – _their_ pleasure is mounting and _mounting_ like a tsunami wave and he needs to be filled, he needs to be plugged full of Spock's come, _he needs to be knotted_ -

{Fill me up, babe, fill me up like you did during your pon'farr -}

Without any further explication, Spock knows what he's asking (begging) for. After a particularly deep thrust that has Jim tossing his head back on the pillow and letting out a high-pitched cry, he feels that _glorious_ swelling of the whole length of Spock's cock again, starting from the root until its rounded, smooth head deep inside him. He scratches at Spock's upper back at the almost unbearable _fullness_ , so full of Spock, his Spock in all the once empty spaces within him. His bent legs shake at the pressure of those double ridges against his prostate. His toes curl. His feet arch downward against Spock's lower back and his breaths are see-sawing out of his heaving chest and he stares up at Spock who stares back at him with equally wondrous eyes and oh, _oh_ , oh yeah, he's going to come, he's going to – he's coming, _he's coming_!

Jim and Spock come at the same time. Jim comes in spurts of thick ropes of pearl-white onto his belly and chest, grinning, laughing with absolute joy. Jim forces his eyes to stay open as he finally _sees_ Spock come while inside him, even as he also feels Spock's pleasure and his own blend and build and _ignite_.

"There you are, Spock," he says huskily, clinging onto Spock's hand still pressed to the side of his face, staring up at Spock's familiar, handsome face going slack and a warm green from the orgasm. "I see you. I see you."

He laughs again when Spock collapses on him and pants volcanic breaths against his right shoulder. He cradles the back of Spock's dry head (because Vulcans don't have sweat glands) with his right hand. He runs his fingers through Spock's space-black, velvety hair. He rubs soothing circles across Spock's upper back with his left hand. He plants a long, tender kiss upon Spock's right temple, then tangles the fingers of his left hand with Spock's right at their sides on the bed.

Spock's erection doesn't decrease in size and hardness inside him until a few minutes after they've come. Jim thinks that Vulcan male physiology is more similar to an Alpha Human male's than anyone may have guessed. Instead of a knot, Vulcans may have evolved to be capable of swelling their whole cock to minimize any chance of their semen leaking out during orgasm. Well, if pon'farr occurs only once every _seven years_ -

{You are correct, Jim, that Vulcans evolved with this particular trait to maximize the chances of successful copulation resulting in pregnancy, especially during pon'farr. Much like Alpha Human males.}

{You're every Omega's wet dream come true, you know that?}

Spock doesn't reply him, but he senses a different kind of warmth caress him in his mind. It feels like amusement and fondness mingled. He feels intense fondness himself for Spock as Spock carefully pulls out of him, as Spock skims down his limp, sated body to the slight mound of his belly and nuzzles it with that prominent, stately nose.

 _We love you,_ he thinks down at the vicinity of his belly, where their baby is slumbering inside him, _we love you so much_.

And it's true. It's really true. If all goes well, their baby will get to know Spock too. Their baby will grow up together with both fathers, with potential homes on two planets and maybe even the Enterprise.

"There are so many things we still gotta talk about, Spock," Jim murmurs later, after they've had a sonic shower together and settled nude into their bed under the blankets (and it pretty much is their bed at this point).

Spock lies on his side facing him, listening silently, attentively. Jim rolls onto his side from his back to face Spock too.

"As your captain, you can't just put yourself in the line of fire like that for me. Definitely not without talking to me first. It undermines my rank, and yeah, I know you don't mean to do that but that's how it'll look to other people. Consider what the Klingons today might have assumed about your behavior."

Spock raises one skeptical eyebrow at him, and it says to Jim, _even if I did confer with you first, you would simply refuse to let me protect you, and it is therefore illogical to confer with you in the first place_.

Jim rolls his eyes and shifts his head on his pillow to settle it nearer to Spock's, their noses almost touching.

"Yeah, I _know_ , I'd stop you from doing it anyway, but the _point_ is, I'm your captain and you're my commander and we're supposed to go into battle _together_ or not at all."

Spock says nothing for a while. Jim patiently waits for a response, unable to stop the slight, soft smile curving up his lips when he feels Spock's gentle hand pressing on his belly under the blankets.

"And as my mate and the father and bearer of my child?"

In the semi-darkness, the bobbing of Jim's Adam's apple is concealed in the shadows. Jim rests a hand over Spock's on his belly. He gazes into Spock's crinkled, warm, deferential eyes.

"As your mate and the father and bearer of your child," he replies with a husky voice, "I get why you became so protective of me. Of us." When Spock stares pointedly at him, he rolls his eyes again but he's still smiling that slight, soft smile. "Yeah, _yeah_ , if things were turned around between us, I would have done the same thing too and kept you out of the fighting any way I could. I admit it, all right?"

"Jim, 9.4 hours ago, I learned that my t'hai'la loves me and cherishes me in return, and that I will be a father despite being told at the age of nine by doctors on Vulcan-that-was that I could never beget children." Even as Jim is processing that murmured statement and feeling the beginnings of outrage on Spock's behalf, Spock adds, "Still, you are correct. My biological drive to protect my mate and child is no excuse for my actions in the shuttle bay. I will not do that again."

"They said that to your face? When you were _nine_?" Jim growls, even as he lifts his hand from under the blankets to stroke Spock's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Assholes."

"They were wrong," Spock simply says, those deep brown eyes still crinkled and warm, and Jim's outrage wanes in the face of truth, in the reality of their baby growing inside him.

"Yeah. They were still assholes, though." Jim traces the curved rim of Spock's ear with his fingertips. "And don't get me wrong, k'diwa," Jim murmurs, and oh, there's that flash of golden sun in Spock's eyes at the term of endearment. "I meant what I said. It was so fucking awesome and _hot_ , what you did. You were beyond badass. I never knew you could even _fight_ like that. I mean, I know you went after Khan and fought him and _beat_ him, but still."

"I was trained in Suus Mahna, kheile'a, sof'el'itju and also ke-ta-yatar at the Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts in Gol Province since I was four years old. I am proficient with the to'tsu'k'hy, the nerve pinch, a kheile'a maneuver meant to repel harm and not inflict it. The first three martial arts are devised to inflict no permanent damage on our opponent, but the last is an ancient, deadly form of ke-tarya."

Spock says all this so indifferently, as if being trained in _four different Vulcan martial arts_ and being exceptionally _badass_ at all of them is _nothing_.

"Are you for real? You are _unreal_ ," Jim mumbles, gaping at his exceptionally badass and stupendous bondmate. "So this Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts is where you learned to use that lirpa too?"

"Yes. Sof'el'itju means 'the dance of combat'. It dates back to the dawn of the Reform, and combatants do not come near a meter or more of each other, relying on weapons like the ahn-woon and the lirpa to attack. A Suus Mahna maneuver called the navorkot is a way of evading an oncoming blade by jumping to the side and rolling based on reading our opponent's movements. It is often executed in sof'el'itju when our opponent wields a long-range bladed weapon," Spock says just as indifferently. "Jim, my proficiency in these Vulcan martial arts is not common knowledge, and it is purposefully so."

"Tactical advantage, huh?"

"The Klingons did not, as you would say, see me coming at all." Spock pauses, then says more quietly, "I was often underestimated by other Vulcans as well due to my biology. Many assumed that I would be significantly weaker than them because I am half-Human."

Jim smirks as he strokes Spock's cheek again, almost bursting once more with pride and affection for his truly one-of-a-kind Vulcan.

"And they were wrong too, weren't they? You've proven your naysayers wrong so many times. I bet you kicked all their asses and made them cry. I wish I could see that."

Spock raises a highly angular eyebrow at him. It somehow still looks so _dignified_ although Spock is naked and snuggled up in bed with him.

"Considering they were all killed when Vulcan was destroyed, that would be impossible."

Spock says this so _indifferently_ , but Jim knows better than to assume that Spock didn't and doesn't feel anything about his home planet being obliterated. (He will always have the unfortunate memory of Spock's hand crushing his neck in wrath, the memory of taunting Spock with such _cruel_ words about a first-rate, history-making woman who never deserved them.) In their shared mindspace, Jim projects his own sadness and regret so that Spock knows he is not alone in still grieving over the loss of Vulcan and so many of its people, so that Spock knows he is not alone.

"I'm glad you made it, Spock," Jim whispers in the semi-darkness, pressing his hand over Spock's on his belly again. "I'm glad it's you."

And Spock, entwining their fingers on Jim's belly under the blankets, whispers the words he'd never believed he would ever hear from Spock, certainly not in this reality, "As I am glad that it is you, my Jim, whose katra has been destined to entwine with mine for all time."

  
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Later, much later, after making love one more time, Jim is snugly curled up on his side on the bed with his eyes almost shut. Spock's arms are enfolding him from behind. Spock's hands are upon his belly and Spock's lips are quiescent against his nape when he hears five, amusement-laced words that make his eyes pop open in the semi-darkness.

{Really, Jim. 'Virile, pointy-eared _sex-beast_ '?}

Oh. Right. He and Spock are telepathically linked, even more so since Spock dropped his mental shield and opened up their bond. And he probably _screamed_ that at Spock in Spock's head while Spock was being a Vulcan supremus badassicus in front of those Klingons.

{Oops.}

(In the coming decades, he will say that word to his bondmate and husband a _lot_.)

   
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When Jim sees their baby for the first time as a three-dimensional, full-color holographic projection in Dr. Indira Chaudary's office at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, he has to cover his face with both hands so the affable doctor and Spock don't see him blubber like, well, a baby.

"Just – gimme a second, okay," he croaks from behind his hands, scrunching his eyes shut in a futile endeavor to stop them from leaking all that _moisture_. Spock, standing next to the inclined bed he's lying on, doesn't help by clasping the nape of his neck and subtly ruffling the short hair there.

"Take all the time you need, Captain Kirk," Dr. Chaudary says, and Jim can hear the benevolent smile in her mellow voice. "Your reaction is actually very common for parents who see their baby as such a clear, detailed holographic projection like this for the first time."

Jim doesn't know how long it takes for him to regain his composure. Minutes, definitely. It feels like years to him. His eyes are still slightly damp when he moves his hands lower down his streaked face to expose them. He blinks hard, then again as he stares at the remarkable three-dimensional holographic projection floating in front of him and Spock. When Dr. Chaudary moves the wand across the gelled surface of his rotund belly, the holographic projection rotates as well, displaying different views of their baby from inside his womb.

At six months into Jim's pregnancy, their baby is curled up with their already chubby arms and legs tucked close to their well-formed body. Their baby's chubby, sweet face is turned to one side, and they can see that their baby's lips are bowed up, just a little, as if smiling sleepily. Their baby has Spock's pointy ears. Their baby looks _happy_.

Their baby is the most beatific sight Jim has beheld in his whole life, and he isn't sure the universe can ever top it, no matter what anyone else says.

Dr. Chaudary confirms that everything is progressing smoothly. Fantastically, in fact, since the baby is a Human-Vulcan being like Spock who, until this baby was conceived, was the only being of his kind in existence, whose conception required medical intervention.

(He and Spock don't talk about Khan's superhuman blood that had been infused into him over a year ago. Bones had reassured them that it won't affect Jim's pregnancy or the baby, that if Jim hasn't exhibited any negative symptoms by now, even after Jim's heat, they were pretty much home free. But out of Spock's hearing and knowing Spock's medical history, Bones had been more solemn with Jim, implying that their baby's conception might have been possible at all _because_ of Khan's blood reversing the damage to Jim's body and maybe even _enhancing_ it. Bones couldn't give him conclusive proof, but neither could Jim refute the conjecture. All he's certain of is that there is no way he is _ever_ going to thank _Khan_ for anything, not after almost killing his whole crew, not after killing him. Not after killing _Pike_ , the father he never had, the one man who'd believed in him enough to make him reach for the stars and touch them.)

"Want to know the sex of the baby?" Dr. Chaudary asks, her light brown eyes genial and genuine, her white teeth showing in an assuaging smile. Jim totally gets why Bones recommended her for prenatal care while he and Spock reside in San Francisco.

Jim glances up at Spock to find Spock already gazing down at him with an impassive face but such affectionate eyes. After Spock nods, Jim says to Dr. Chaudary, "Yes. Please."

Dr. Chaudary moves the wand across his belly again. Then, with another affable smile, she says to them, "You've got a girl."

A jubilant grin gradually spreads across Jim's face as he stares at the holographic projection of their baby once more, at her darling and plump face. A girl. They have a girl, a daughter. They have a little, sweet, pointy-eared girl who's going to be the most fabulous, miraculous, wondrous, _stupendous_ girl in the entire universe. He just knows it.

He glances up at Spock to tell Spock all that. He stays quiet when he sees Spock studying the holographic projection. Spock's crinkled eyes are rapt. Spock's features have softened visibly in a way that makes a lump form in Jim's throat. If he'd ever had any doubts whatsoever that Spock loves their baby too, they're gone for good. He knows what their baby means to Spock: an impossibility become possible, a miracle become reality, an affirmation of their t'hai'la bond. An affirmation of Spock's own existence as a living, intelligent being worthy of love and acceptance in his own right.

Jim requests for a copy of the holographic projection. For days afterward, he plays it repeatedly in the solacing solitude of the rented, sunshine-filled apartment he shares with Spock that's just minutes away from Starfleet Academy by aircar. As he predicted, Spock has returned to teaching at the Academy, although only for the duration of his pregnancy. He spends most of his time alone either napping in the curved support of his pregnancy pillow or messaging Bones via his PADD or chatting with their baby girl, indulging in the now stronger waves of warmth emanating from her. He'd thought Spock would deem his talking with their baby to be illogical or just plain kooky, but Spock had instead encouraged him to keep doing it.

"By now her brain has been rapidly developing for a month," Spock says to him a week after their appointment with Dr. Chaudary, on a Sunday afternoon. "Supposing that her development is parallel to mine, the development is much more rapid than that of a Human fetus. Based on your past experiences of already sensing her very rudimentary, projected emotions at 3.6 months of gestation, she will be reacting to sounds outside, in particular to your voice."

Jim is laying on his back on their bed while Spock is sitting on the side of the bed, with one hand on the apex of his rotund belly over his thick and loose, dark gray cashmere sweater. Spock's eyes are shut. Although Spock can't see it, Jim smiles tenderly up at him anyway, at the way Spock's space-black, immaculate hair gleams under the spring afternoon sunlight, at the way the light heightens the contrast between Spock's smooth, pale skin and Spock's dark blue, v-neck t-shirt. (He loves seeing Spock in casual Human clothes, like t-shirts and jeans and sneakers. They make Spock more … down-to-earth, somehow.) When Spock turns his head in profile, the light casts fan of shadows on those high cheekbones under Spock's long, lush eyelashes.

Spock will always be amazing and stunning and _devastating_ beyond Jim's understanding.

"I can feel those warm waves more often lately." Jim huffs out an almost soundless chuckle. "I think I felt her surprise once, when I dropped that metal bowl on the floor in the kitchen."

"Bear in mind, Jim, these are merely reflex reactions from her. Even today, with the research the Vulcan Science Academy has conducted regarding my people's biology and physiology, we have yet to ascertain precisely when a baby achieves consciousness." Spock tilts his head, eyes still shut (and Jim can't help wonder if their baby girl will tilt her head the same way). "She does not respond to my telepathic inquiries."

Jim rests his left hand over Spock's on his belly.

"That's normal, right?"

"Yes. I hypothesize that she will do so at the age of five months or older."

"So, when she sends those warm waves, is it her just feeling content or something? Or is she specifically sending them at _me_? Like, when I feel down."

Spock is silent for a while as he cogitates on the questions. Then, Spock opens his eyes to half-mast and replies, "I am unable to give you a definite answer, ashal-veh. When my mother was pregnant with me, she informed my father that she could sense similar warmth emanating from inside her abdomen, from me. But I do not have any conscious memory of it."

Jim still feels his heart skip a beat whenever Spock refers to him with a Vulcan term of endearment with that low, resonant voice. He still feels a pang whenever Spock mentions his late mother. As part of their mutual plan to catch up on all the months, the _years_ they could have been so much more than just work colleagues and friends, they have free rein to explore the other's memories whenever permission is given. Spock has shown him so many memories of his childhood that included his Human mother, Amanda Grayson, who'd undeniably loved Spock with all her heart and soul.

One of Jim's favorites is of a three-year-old, heart-achingly cute Spock standing in front of his kneeling mother in the back garden of their home on Vulcan-that-was. Three-year-old Spock was a Spock who still accepted his mother's touch, who still coveted and cherished them without reserve.

 _You are perfect as you are, my sa-fu_ , Amanda had said to her son, stroking his chunky, green-flushed cheek with her fingers and smiling adoringly at him. _You are worthy of love and respect as you are, no matter what they say_.

 _But, ko-mekh,_ Spock replied, his already highly angular eyebrows shooting up his cute, little forehead, _it is illogical to think that anyone can be perfect_.

And Amanda had simply smiled at her son, stroking his space-black, immaculate hair, as if she'd known even then that her son will one day understand what she meant.

Jim's mother has never said such words to him. He knows that she never will, not when he is an everlasting reminder to her that the man she loved is dead. What she did say to him, for all his life, she said with her absence, with her averted eyes and they were enough for Jim to understand: the people you love will die on you and leave you, and you'll be alone, no matter how far you run.

{Your mother was wrong.}

Here and now, in this sunshine-filled apartment he shares with Spock, he isn't running anymore. He's where he belongs, at Spock's side. He's with his t'hai'la, his friend and life-long companion and lover and bondmate. His soulmate.

{Your mother was right,} Jim replies, weaving their fingers together on his belly.

Spock gazes down at him with those big, brilliant, intense, deep brown eyes at half-mast. He's shown Spock just as many memories of his childhood, and most of them were far from pretty. (Their shared mindspace turned crimson like blood and _tremored_ when he shared with Spock the dismal memories of Frank beating him up black and blue and leaving him to starve while Frank drank away whatever little money Mom left to feed him.) He's also shown Spock everything he's felt and thought since awakening from that coma and recovering from radiation poisoning, and he knows Spock has been chomping at the bit for weeks now to talk to him about it all.

"Jim," Spock says distinctly, as if his name really means _something_ to Spock, as if it means the universe to Spock, any and _all_ universes (and it does, he can't believe it but it does).

Jim lets out a low sigh. Oh yeah, he knows where this conversation is going, it's been a long time coming -

"Did you truly think so little of me, that you so easily believed I would take our baby away from you? That I would simply _replace_ you with someone else as the rightful parent of your child? Without so much as an iota of regard for you and your wellbeing? After all we have experienced together?"

Chalk it up to Spock to cut to the quick, as usual. Spock's face is inscrutable but the disconsolation imbuing their shared mindspace as gravid, gray clouds is palpable.

Jim lowers his eyes from Spock's face to their entwined fingers. He stares at them and places his other hand over them as he replies quietly, "I was an idiot, Spock. I was … I was so sure you were in love with Uhura and you had already decided to bond and settle down with her and all that. I guess I became so good at convincing myself that you could never love me. That – that _nobody_ could. That's how it's always _been_ for me, you know? You gotta be _crazy_ to expect things to turn out different when they never have before, right? I mean ..."

Jim glances up at the pristine white ceiling of their bedroom and stares at it. He lets out another low sigh.

"I'm an Omega, Spock. For as long as I can remember, everybody's said that Omegas are only good for getting fucked and popping out babies for Alphas, that they'll never be capable of anything more. Frank, that _fucker_ , he believed that. Sam did too. Even Mom did. She never said it aloud but I know she did. And they … they all left me. Because I wasn't good enough for them. For anybody." Jim swallows hard, still staring at the ceiling. "And when I got my first heat? It was horrible. I was so damn _lucky_ that Frank left town that week for some trucking job. I felt so helpless, so … _disgusting_ afterwards. I felt like some disgusting Omega slut. I _was_ a disgusting Omega slut, lying there and begging to be fucked and knotted by _any_ Alpha. I think if Frank _had_ been around -" Again, he swallows hard. "Disgusting Omega slut. That's me." He bites his lower lip hard.

He stares at the ceiling. He stares and stares, and he can feel how _rigid_ Spock's fingers have become against his own, as if Spock has frozen in place, as if time itself has frozen and is holding its breath. He can feel Spock's eyes like rays of the sun on his face, scorching him.

It feels like centuries have passed before Spock's fingers go lax, before Spock says distinctly, _quietly_ , "I see."

After several more seconds, Jim dredges up the courage to turn his head and look at Spock's face. Spock's face is as inscrutable as ever. In their shared mindspace, however, the disconsolation has morphed into something else, something akin to a fusion of empathy, tenderness and banked anger (although it's not towards him, he knows that for sure).

"It appears that I have been tasked with a most crucial vocation."

Jim blinks and frowns mildly in puzzlement. Uh, okay. He did _not_ expect that as a response.

"Huh? What vocation?"

"To love you with all I have each and every day, and to remind you each and every day that you are perfect as you are and will always be worthy of love and respect. I will not stop until _you_ believe this also. I will not stop even after." Spock tilts his head in that supremely adorable, _poignant_ way, his familiar, handsome face still so inscrutable. "A mission for a lifetime, if it must be so." Spock pauses, then straightens his head again. "A most worthwhile vocation."

See, this is the part where Jim should roll his eyes and call Spock a closeted mushbag or something but _nope_ , his stupid, stupid, _stupid_ hormones are at it again, making his eyes sting so bad and brim full, making his lower lip quaver against his will and his throat constrict to a pin-hole. Spock becomes a blur of colorful blobs bathed in sunshine.

"Stop it," Jim rasps, smacking Spock multiple times as hard as he can on the upper arm with his palm. "Stop it, stop it, _stop it_."

Spock's expression doesn't change one bit, but through their bond, Jim can feel Spock's relief and sincerity and _devotion_ (and oh man, even their baby is joining the 'let's make Jim bawl like a dumbass' game by projecting more of those waves of warmth now). He blinks hard to clear his wet eyes and he sees the twinkle in Spock's crinkled eyes, like a golden sun hovering behind the moon in the black-velvet darkness of night, no less brighter for it.

Jim makes a valiant effort to put on a stern expression, nevermind that his face has watery trails on it and that Spock can feel the staggering wave of love from him in their shared mindspace.

"You're not supposed to say things like that," he growls (or he thinks he does). "You're supposed to say shit like, 'Emotions are alien to me,' or something."

Jim feels a thread of amusement from Spock through their bond. For some reason unknown to him, it is also tinted with a hint of melancholy, of regret.

"I have said such words before, Jim." Spock raises an eyebrow, and Jim is pretty damn certain at this point that their baby will inherit that eyebrow move _and_ that twinkle too. "But as you have said to me time and again, Vulcans really do suck at lying."

And what can Jim do, really, except break into chortles and not give a damn about the tears in his eyes and on his face? Spock doesn't care that he's an emotional, big blimp of a mess. Spock is still grasping his hand (and Vulcan-kissing him the whole time). Spock is still here with him and their baby. Spock loves him anyway (and their baby, their sweet, little girl).

In the following hours that serenely segue into a cool evening, Jim and Spock cuddle in bed under the blankets, with Jim's head on Spock's left shoulder and Spock's sinewy arms cradling him (and their baby).

"Our kid is _not_ going through the kahs-wan," Jim says. "She can prove herself in many other ways that don't involve her being left out to survive or _die_ in a desert."

"Yes, Jim," Spock replies, leaning his head upon the crown of Jim's head.

"And no way am I letting her get married at _seven_! She gets to choose who she _wants_ to be with, no matter what her biology says. Somebody who'll love her and treat her _right_."

"Yes, Jim."

"And I know it's Vulcan tradition that the father isn't present at births, but you're gonna be with me when I gotta push her outta me."

"Yes, Jim."

"Also, I'm a freaking giant, fat, jiggling, gross whale. I can't believe there's still over two months to go."

He feels Spock's mouth open. He bites his lower lip, this time to curb his amused smile, when he feels Spock's mouth close after a second of silence. He lets out a buoyant chuckle anyway as Spock tightens those sinewy, powerful arms around him in playful retribution. (Spock gives the best hugs.)

"Du vaksurik, ashayam," Spock murmurs against his forehead, "ri yauluhk ra tar-tor au."

 _You are beautiful, my beloved, no matter what they say_.

Jim knows that Spock isn't just responding to his facetious comment. He knows that Spock means it, in all ways.

"Kuv tar-tor du." _If you say so_.

Jim replies with a slight sarcastic tone. He is also smiling against the dark blue of Spock's t-shirt, and in their shared mindspace, another green-leafed, purple-trunked tree erupts from red, sizzling sand to add its number to the verdant, boundless forest bathed in sunshine, each one an embodiment of thoughts of love and reverence Jim and Spock have and will always have for each other.

   
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Just a day after the Klingons' failed hijacking and invasion of the Enterprise, Cupcake establishes an unofficial Spock fan club called the Spockian Brigade. After two days, it has over four hundred members and counting.

To Spock's chagrin (and resignation of the situation), Jim makes it an official club by gleefully signing the club's approval request form. He then sets up an online forum for the club on the Galactic Computer Network under an anonymous nickname, 'SpocksAshayam4eva'. Less than forty-eight hours after the forum goes live, he receives thirty-one private messages about his nickname, claiming that he can't possibly be Spock's whatever-ashayam-is because _they_ are Spock's whatever-ashayam-is.

Jim has to reassure Bones (and everyone else except eyebrow-raising Spock) that he isn't going nuts or something for giggling to himself so much on the bridge. (Hey, there's nothing much else to do when the ship is just zooming back to Spacedock for two weeks straight at a safe and _slow_ warp 4, can't blame him for wanting to keep his mind from rotting from boredom.)

A mere four days after the forum goes live, Jim realizes that _Spock_ is a member of the forum too. Because Spock never uses contractions in his long, formal sentences. Spock's very imaginative nickname is 'Sfekalik-Kaluklar'. Or as Humans would say in Standard English, 'Pointy-Ears'. And Spock _debates_ with other members (whose numbers are booming by the hundreds per day) over how _not_ extraordinary Commander Spock is in any way (and is always accused of being an 'inflammatory Spock-hating troll') and constantly puts forward Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Enterprise as the person they should all admire and honor instead.

God, Jim loves his Vulcan so fucking much that it hurts him down to the tiniest _atom_ of his bone marrow.

   
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Two days after Jim and Spock settle into their newly rented apartment in San Francisco, Bones is going off to Georgia, Atlanta to spend time with his daughter for the next four to five months, depending on when Jim gives birth. Jim is counting his blessings, because it's also the same day that Bones discovers that Jim had intended to lie to Starfleet and claim he'd stolen the heat suppressant shots from Bones.

"Really, Jim? _Really_?!" Bones bellows from where he's seated in an armchair, crossing those burly arms over a burly chest encased in a plain white t-shirt. "Well, bless your wheat-whackin' lil' heart, this is where you're expecting me to _thank_ you, aren't you!"

Spock, the _coward_ , is leaving Jim to face Bones alone in the living room while he _brews tea_ in the kitchen. As if it takes _that_ long to brew tea!

"Bones, _c'mon_ , I can't just let you take the fall for me -"

"Did it occur to you that maybe I would prefer to make a stand _for myself_? Instead of you _lying_ and implicating yourself even more?!"

Jim sprawls back against the cozy leather couch he's sitting on and rolls his eyes with a huff. At four months and one week into his pregnancy, his belly is now evidently bulging if he wears a fitted t-shirt. He can still hide it if he wears looser shirts or sweaters, and today, he's dressed in one of his favorite threadbare, graphic-printed t-shirts that stretches around his belly and rides up. Thank fuck for paternity jeans that will stretch along with him as the months go by, at least.

"It doesn't matter anyway. We haven't told Starfleet yet about us being bondmates. Or me being a pregnant Omega guy." Jim rolls his eyes again when Bones blows a noisy breath of exasperation through his nose and keeps glaring daggers at Jim. "I'm _not_ going to lie about the heat suppressant shots, _okay_? I promise!"

Bones releases a snort that clearly says, _oh right, and I'm a virgin, ask my daughter_!

Still, Bones mutters instead with a much more simmered down voice, "So _are_ you going to tell Starfleet? About you and Spock?"

Spock, in a black, v-neck sweater and khaki slacks, chooses to make his entrance at that moment, ambling up to the coffee table in front of the couch with a tray of three mugs and a full teapot of what smells like Earl Grey. Spock sets the mugs and teapot onto its transparent glass surface like he sets down his chess pieces, meticulously and deliberately.

Jim waits until Spock is seated next to him on his left on the couch before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, we are. We have to." Jim skims a hand over his blond hair that's becoming longer than he likes. "We have to register our bond with the New Vulcan High Command anyway, which means that sooner or later Starfleet will find out about it." Jim leans his head back on the cushion's headrest and sighs heavily. "I don't want to hide the bond. I don't wanna hide my pregnancy or the baby either."

"Once you tell Starfleet about your Omega status, you know they're going to keep you on lock down for a preliminary hearing at the very least." Bones lowers his arms and sits in a more relaxed pose. "Maybe a trial, even, and go for the jugular."

"They can try," Spock says coolly, sipping his tea, and Jim reaches out to rest a hand on Spock's right thigh.

Bones snorts again, but it's one of amusement and perhaps even a smidgen of esteem.

"You and your pointy-eared friends already got burrs in your saddles, hm? Gonna tan their hides if they kick Jim off the Enterprise and out of Starfleet?"

Spock places his mug of tea back on the coffee table, then says as coolly, "Vulcan law expressly forbids the separation of bondmates unless it is with the unequivocal consent of both bondmates. This law covers all circumstances, even one as unique as mine with Jim. Since Jim and I clearly do not wish to be parted, Starfleet will have to contend with Vulcan law that protects all New Vulcan citizens, as well as the stipulations specified in the Federation Charter and the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets regarding the fundamental individual rights of citizens.

"Despite Starfleet's ongoing, public denial of its anti-Omega policies, it is certainly guilty of such discrimination which already goes against the Federation Charter and the Constitution. If Starfleet decides to malign Jim by dishonorably discharging him simply for being an Omega - who is still a better captain than most Alphas in the organization - they will have to scour for a credible and unquestionable reason to discharge me as well." Spock gives Bones a meaningful glance. "Which they have none, for the t'hai'la bond that Jim and I have is the most revered and honored of all Vulcan bonds. Under Vulcan law _and_ the Constitution, the bond supersedes Starfleet rules regarding fraternization as well as Human gender status. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that Jim stays by my side."

Bones' snort this time definitely has a smidgen of esteem in it.

Jim caresses the length of Spock's thigh and gazes at his Vulcan bondmate with a look that must be blaring, _I love you so fucking much that even the quarks in my atoms love you_. (And he's amazed that Bones isn't giving him shit for it.)

"Well, then," Bones says, one end of his lips curling up in a small albeit impressed smile. "Looks like you're all set to fight Starfleet for Jim."

"I am," Spock replies, sitting with his spine straight, his exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands lax on top of his thighs. "My father is also assisting us with legal matters, here on Earth and on New Vulcan. I have been informed he has already appointed two reliable and respected attorneys who are active in the Omega Rights movement and are prepared to represent Jim in the event of a trial, pro bono." Spock glances at Jim then with sunlight-warm eyes, and says, "Your reputation as the twice-over savior of Earth precedes you, ashayam."

Bones looks so much more at ease, shoulders drooping, face softening, arms and hands loose on cushioned armrests. It's only now that Jim realizes how worried Bones must have been all this time for him and still is, even while being so excited to see his daughter again.

"I'm gonna be okay, Leo," Jim says, sitting up to pat his oldest best friend on the knee. "I got you and Spock, don't I?"

This is where Jim expects Bones to tease him about needing constant babysitters or something. Instead, Bones gazes at him with unguarded, warm eyes, that small smile turned into a fond one.

"Of course you do, Jim. Never doubt that."

Spock's impassive face reveals nothing, but through their bond, Jim feels Spock's approval of Bones' friendship and loyalty. Jim grins at them both, at how nice it is that his two best friends in the entire universe are actually a-okay with each other after all (although they'll probably only admit it to each other upon threat of death).

Later at the front door of the apartment as Bones is leaving, Bones says to Jim, "I gotta say, somebody up there _really_ loves you, for you to be this lucky."

Jim chuckles and replies, "Yeah, that's me: lucky, lucky James Tiberius Kirk."

Spock, standing next to Jim and facing Bones, tilts his head and looks at Bones with a slight furrow to his brow.

"To whom are you referring to, this 'somebody up there'?"

Bones looks at Spock with an utterly straight face, which already makes Jim's lips tremble with mirth. He has to suck his lower lip in as Bones slowly approaches Spock and then stage whispers with wide eyes while pointing up at the sky, "See, nobody's told you Vulcans about this, but there's this _biiiig_ guy who lives in the sky above us that nobody can see or hear unless you take some _good_ drugs."

Spock's brow furrows even more with what appears to be genuine bafflement.

"And this 'big guy' really loves Jim?" Spock asks.

"Yeah," Bones says, still utterly straight-faced. "I think you may have to fight him to the death for Jim's modesty. It's _way_ too late to fight for Jim's _chastity_ at this point."

"Bones!" Jim snaps, but his mock expression of outrage is already ruined by his tremoring lips that are trying to arch up into a grin.

Bones ends the farce by cracking up and smacking Spock once on the upper arm (and Jim's amazed that Spock doesn't react to it when he usually can't tolerate other people apart from Jim touching him).

"I'm just messing with you, Spock," Bones says as he dons his olive-green, utility jacket. Then he sighs aloud and says to them both, "I really can't wait to see Jo-Jo again. The ex, though, not so much. Still ..." He shrugs and makes a face. "Regardless of whatever we've fought about, she's doing our little girl right and taking good care of her." He makes another face that's more of a wince. "I'll probably need to stock up on the bourbon before every visit anyway." Then he makes yet another face, this time a narrow-eyed, crabby one at Jim. " _And_ I'll need to restock my supply on the ship too, thanks to a certain _brat_."

Jim gazes at Bones with a placid and innocent expression.

"Nam-tor wuh'rak srashiv nar-tor ta ma tu wat, Bonesy," he then says regally, holding his hands behind his back and jutting out his chin. _The first step is to admit you have a problem_.

Through his bond with Spock, he can feel Spock's spark of amusement.

Bones places his hands in fists on his hips, arms akimbo.

"You _turning_ into a green-blooded hobgoblin on me now?" Bones growls, his hazel-green eyes twinkling, and Jim cracks up and goes up to Bones to hug him as Spock raises an eyebrow but stays silent.

"Say hi to Jo-Jo for me," he murmurs against Bones' broad shoulder. "I'm gonna miss ya."

"Aw, kid." Bones hugs him back tightly with both arms. "Of course I'll tell her Uncle Jimmy said hi. And that she may have a playmate soon. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim says with a soft smile after stepping back. "Have a good journey home. Call or message me when ya get there."

"Sure. And I don't care what time it is, you fellas _call_ me if anything happens." Bones steps out into the hallway, then turns around and points one forefinger at Jim's face. "And _you_ better _behave_ yourself while I'm gone."

Jim rolls his eyes yet again.

"Since when have I _not_ behaved?!"

Bones and Spock stare pointedly at him with deadpan faces. Jim whips one hand up into the air and shuts his eyes, muttering, "Don't answer that."

When he opens his eyes, he sees Spock turning to Bones to say, "Do not worry, Leonard. We will be certain to contact you in the event of an emergency. I bid you a safe journey to Georgia."

The wide-eyed, slacked-jawed expression of stupefaction on Bones' face when he hears Spock call him by his first name is priceless, just _priceless_. Bones is still gaping at them as Spock unhurriedly shuts the door while Jim leans against Spock and guffaws.

"And people think you Vulcans have no sense of humor," Jim murmurs while gazing up at Spock, after kissing Spock on the lips with his own and wrapping his arms around Spock's lean, gorgeous torso.

Jim will be reminded of his own words four days later when Sarek and a Vulcan healer pay them a visit at their apartment on a Tuesday morning. Jim hasn't seen Sarek in person since the destruction of Vulcan. (Since his son strangled him on the bridge of the Enterprise while so terribly and understandably emotionally compromised.) Spock hasn't begun teaching at the Academy yet, and so is in the living room keeping Jim company long before his father arrives.

Jim is attired in a long-sleeved black t-shirt, a baggy, navy cardigan sweater and jeans and his rounded belly can barely be seen under the layers. He rubs it with both hands in languid circles, his eyes half-shut, his mind faraway as he tries not to be overcome by nerves.

"It's okay, baby, everything's gonna be okay," he mumbles, staring into the distance while he sits on the couch. "Your Vulcan grandpa loves you too."

He can't help bowing up his lips at the wave of warmth radiating from inside his belly. His baby is so sweet. (Yeah, he's aware that at this stage of the pregnancy, his baby's brain is still developing and there isn't any conscious thought directing the waves. He doesn't care.)

Spock is unusually reticent today, garbed in Vulcan casual attire that would be considered formal as hell by Human standards: a tailored, dark blue coat with a large, floral heraldry crest on the chest and tailored black pants (that really compliments Spock's butt). Spock's familiar, handsome face is so expressionless that it reminds Jim of the faces of statues, perpetually suspended in sculpted marble. Spock stands at one of the floor-to-ceiling, tinted one-way windows overlooking the street, staring out while holding those exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands behind his back, the right hand cupping the left wrist.

On the outside, Spock _is_ like a statue delineated in morning sunlight, as if anything Human about him has been withdrawn into an alcove deep within Spock's mind. On the inside, however, Jim can feel the … pensiveness through their bond. It's the only word he can think of to describe the grayness of their shared mindspace, the vivid colors muted under an overcast sky that sieves the sunshine into a bleary trickle.

Jim doesn't like it. Jim doesn't like that the mere presence of Spock's father can make Spock _recede_ like this, when Spock has nothing to be ashamed about his Human heritage and the emotions he harbors. But having seen so many of Spock's childhood memories, of Spock being jeered at and bullied by other Vulcan kids and even Vulcan _adults_ for being half-Human, Jim gets why Spock is behaving like this. He doesn't like it, but he gets it: he has his own life-long hang-ups about being an Omega.

He gets off the couch and saunters over to Spock. He breathes an internal sigh of relief when Spock turns to him and enfolds a welcoming arm around him before staring out the window once more. He enfolds an arm around Spock's waist and stares out the window with Spock, at the aircars traveling the roads six floors below, at the bustle of people, Human and extraterrestrial alike, going about their daily business.

When Sarek and the Vulcan healer do arrive, Jim is mentally and emotionally prepared to meet them. He stands tall and confident as the captain of the coolest, prettiest, greatest starship in the entire universe would, poker-faced but bright-eyed.

Sarek, as a Vulcan ambassador on Earth, is wearing black-and-brown Vulcan ceremonial robes, elaborately designed with a high collar, flowing sleeves and Vulcan text decoration on the right side of the chest. The healer, a round-faced Vulcan woman with startlingly white, thick hair trussed up into braided bun, is wearing a loose, hooded robe in red with a jeweled brooch attached to the base of the hood between the collarbones.

Spock greets them with a flawlessly executed ta'al. Jim greets them with his own ta'al, saying, "Amsetri tre." _Your presence honors us_.

Sarek's deep brown eyes – along with that distinctive bowl haircut - are very much like his son's. They're more creased along the edges than Spock's are, and whatever emotion Jim could not see before in them, he does now. He hopes he isn't misinterpreting the glint in Sarek's eyes as approval. (He really, _really_ wants Sarek's approval, if only for Spock's sake.)

He then says, "My name is Jim," in the Vulcan tradition of the formal offering of first names.

He can tell that Sarek didn't expect it, that it is a welcomed surprise when Sarek's eyes crinkle more despite his expressionless visage.

"My name is Sarek," Spock's father replies with a voice almost as low and resonant as his son's. "How is the baby, Jim?"

"I'll be setting up an appointment with a prenatal doctor at Starfleet Medical soon, once Spock and I notify Starfleet about our bond and the pregnancy," Jim replies. "But my friend, Doctor McCoy, has assured me that everything's going great, and that the doctor at Starfleet Medical is trustworthy and good."

"I am gratified to hear that," Sarek says with a head tilt that is certainly like his son's.

The healer then steps forward and introduces herself as T'Val. She has a dulcet, benign voice that immediately puts Jim at ease. She also has blue eyes, although they're of a darker shade than Jim's.

She gazes unblinkingly at Jim as she says, "My bondmate and our two children were on Vulcan-that-was when it was attacked by Nero. I learned 9.3 months ago that due to your efforts to thwart and delay the destruction of the planet, my family was saved in time." She bows her head in acknowledgment. "I thank thee, Captain Kirk, for their continued existence."

Jim almost loses his poker face, engulfed by gladness at the news. He knows that there were Vulcans who managed to escape before the planet was destroyed, who are now living on New Vulcan along with other Vulcans who've gathered there from all over the galaxy. It's still something else to be face to face with a Vulcan whose loved ones (and they love, oh, they _love_ ) survived Nero's attack.

"You are welcome, T'Val," Jim says, allowing the ends of his lips to curl up in a courteous smile. "Please, call me Jim."

T'Val bows her head again, then steps back to stand at Sarek's side.

They walk to the living room where Jim and Spock have rearranged the furniture for the mindmeld that will take place. There are now three wooden, cushioned chairs taken from the dining table that are ready for Jim, Spock and T'Val to sit on, with two of them facing the third. Sarek stands to one side as a witness while everyone else takes their seats, with Jim at Spock's left.

{How much can she see in my head, Spock?}

He glances at Spock who looks back at him with such an impassive face but much warmer, much more familiar eyes. He yearns to touch Spock's hand, to grasp it and tangle their fingers together. (The only reason he doesn't is because that would be beyond _obscene_ in front of Sarek and T'Val.)

{It will be a shallow meld, Jim, simply to examine the status and state of our bond. She will see nothing that you do not permit her to see.}

Jim nods at that, then turns his head to face an also seated T'Val. Then he glances at Sarek, and again, he almost loses his poker face. Sarek looks … stunned.

"You are telepathically communicating with each other," Sarek says, looking at Spock first, then at Jim, then back to Spock.

"Ha, sa-mekh," Spock says, sharing a long glance with his father.

Sarek says nothing more. T'Val takes her cue to begin the mindmeld when Sarek takes a step back to continue observing the proceedings. Jim and Spock bow their heads in unison for T'Val to place her fingers at the necessary key points.

"My mind to your mind," she intones. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

As Spock promised, the mindmeld isn't intrusive at all and is shallow and disciplined. In their shared mindspace, he hears T'Val gasp as she drinks in the grand vision of the vast, boundless green-leafed, purple-trunked forest upon red, sizzling sand bathed in sunlight, the perceptible incarnation of their t'hai'la bond. Yeah, he'd be lying if he says he isn't proud of how compatible he and Spock are in every way, even telepathically. He is, he really is, and so is Spock, who isn't even concealing _his_ satisfaction from T'Val over their bond.

They watch T'Val – or rather, the mental manifestation of her – stroll through their thriving forest, gazing all around her with large, glossy eyes, with what Jim guesses is admiration. He can't quite tell what she's thinking or feeling, probably because he isn't bonded to her like he is to Spock.

After T'Val retreats from their minds, Jim opens his eyes to half-mast. T'Val's eyes are open too and for an instant, they look like they're glistening, like they're damp. Then T'Val blinks, and Jim wonders if he'd just imagined it.

"Truly," she says to Spock, "you are his t'hai'la." Then she looks at Jim and says, "And he yours."

Jim tries so damn hard to maintain his poker face in respect of the Vulcans present. He does, really, and he manages to last for about seven seconds before a blinding, ecstatic grin blooms across his face. He glances at Spock who is gazing at him with those crinkled, sun-warm eyes. He glances at T'Val and Sarek, then wrestles his features into stoicism again.

"I am gratified to hear that," he says to T'Val with a flat voice.

The three Vulcans gaze at him with expressionless faces and crinkled eyes that _twinkle_ and that's it, his blinding, ecstatic grin is back on his face. He wonders how he could have been so blind as to not see the _soul_ behind those inscrutable faces that's there all along, how _anyone_ can't.

After he, Spock and T'Val stand, Sarek approaches them to say to Jim, "I welcome you to the House of S'chn, the Clan of T'gai, and to New Vulcan as a citizen."

For Sarek's sake, Jim dampens his grin to a tight-lipped smile. Through his bond with Spock, he can feel how pleased Spock is at his father's acceptance of Jim into the family. It looks like the paperwork for his New Vulcan citizenship is all done and filed. Sarek had told Spock that, in light of Jim's efforts to save Vulcan and then defeat Nero, there would be no problems with Jim becoming a citizen, even if Jim wasn't Spock's bondmate, much less t'hai'la. Now that a Vulcan healer has officially confirmed their t'hai'la bond, it will be registered with the New Vulcan High Command, guaranteeing Jim's citizenship and rights to be permanent.

Sarek turns to Spock and says, "As illogical as it may be to speculate on what your mother would have said or felt in this moment, I believe that she would have been gratified and warmly welcomed another Human into our fold."

The mention of Spock's mother is akin to a splash of icy water upon Jim. Jim's smile withers away as he gazes at Sarek, as he recalls the _loathsome_ things he'd spat at Spock's face about his mother.

 _What is it with you, Spock, hm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset_.

Spock had begun backing away from him, already on the verge of fracturing, of _breaking_ and he could tell and he just kept cutting -

 _What is it like not to feel anger or heartbreak or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you_?

He just kept _cutting_ , even as all the cracks appeared in Spock's frail, doomed defenses -

 _You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her_!

And then Spock _snapped_ , and Spock has since had to live with the fact that he assaulted his t'hai'la. Live with the knowledge that no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't save his mother who Jim now knows he'd loved and _cherished_ so damn much. Live with Jim's words forever haunting him, planting doubt deep within him. Words that Jim can never, ever take back.

"Sarek."

Jim isn't sure what he sounds like, but Sarek and Spock are now staring at him in silence while T'Val has stepped back and away in deference to their ensuing conversation.

Jim looks Sarek in the eye as he says, "Sarek, I need to apologize. About what I'd done to Spock on the bridge of the Enterprise that day. About what I'd said to Spock about his mother, your wife."

{Jim,} he hears Spock say, as if his name means more than anything in the universe, as if Spock wishes to swathe him in sunshine and affection and forgiveness. {Ashayam.}

He ignores Spock and gazes on at Sarek, his head held high, his spine straight, because that's what Sarek deserves as family, as family that has chosen to accept and respect him as he is when his own flesh-and-blood didn't and still don't.

"The loss of control wasn't Spock's fault. I'm the one who deliberately provoked him. I _tormented_ him in front of everyone, knowing that he'd just lost his entire home world, his _mother_. I accused your son of feeling nothing for her, of never loving her, and I was wrong. I was so wrong -" Jim swallows hard, still looking an impassive Sarek in the eye. "What I did to him was vile, and I'm ashamed of it. Spock didn't deserve that. His mother didn't deserve that. And I know I can never take the words back, no matter how much I want to." His voice turns hoarse and low as he says, "I wish I had the chance to meet her, to know her. She was a marvelous woman. Which is one hell of an understatement, I know."

The hush that follows feels so _solid_ that it is a laden weight upon Jim's shoulders. Spock is staring at him, but he doesn't look at Spock. He keeps looking at Sarek who stares back unwaveringly, who reveals nothing on his face.

His eyes, however, deep brown and crinkled eyes just like his son's, tell a different story.

"Spock and I had conversed after the incident, in the transporter room," Sarek says calmly and quietly, just like his son would. "I say to you, Jim, what I said to him then: My son will always be a child of two worlds, and I am grateful for it. And for him."

Out of the corner of his eyes that are beginning to sting, Jim sees Spock lowering his eyes to gaze at the floor instead. In their shared mindspace that is no longer gray, that is more vibrant and resplendent and _incandescent_ than ever, another green-leafed, purple-trunked tree erupts from fertile, red sand, growing and growing taller and wider than so many of the other trees, its far-reaching branches swaying in a cooling breeze beneath blazing sun beams.

"I also say to you what I said to him then: I do not condemn him for his anger over his mother's demise. He asked me once why I married her, and I told him: I married her because I loved her. I still do."

Jim's throat works in a long, hard swallow again. He knows just how momentous it is that Sarek is telling him any of this at all, that Sarek is letting him _know_ that he, a Vulcan who is _not_ half-Human, _feels_ as much as his son does. Spock is absolutely quiet at Jim's side, staring at his father who now gazes back at him.

"Our people easily forget that it is not the absence of emotion that is commendable, but our control of them. Our people also easily forget that there are extenuating circumstances in which a certain amount of loss of control is … logical, and justified." Sarek gazes at his son for another second, then looks at Jim once more. "Spock and I understood, in hindsight, that your deliberate provocation was an urgent tactical maneuver to gain command of the ship from my son who, as you correctly judged, was emotionally compromised. We also understand that you did not mean nor believe those statements that you made about her, and that makes all the difference, Jim. Nevertheless, I accept your apology."

Jim draws in a long, tremulous breath. The laden weight vanishes from his shoulders, and he can _breathe_ again.

"Thank you, sir," he rasps.

Sarek looks pointedly at him. For a few seconds, Jim is confused and gazes back with a furrowed brow. Then, he realizes what his mistake was, and his face softens with comprehension.

"Thank you, Sarek," he says, and Sarek is then looking at him with crinkled, _kind_ eyes, eyes just like the ones gazing at him from Spock's familiar, handsome, unforgettable face. He sees only tenderness in Spock's eyes. He feels that blanket of soothing warmth swaddling him in their shared mindspace, and he risks a fleeting touch to Spock's hand, a swift graze of their fingers.

Neither Sarek or T'Val (who'd gone into deep meditation until then) comment on it. They decline Jim's offer of Vulcan spice tea and carrot cake with cream cheese that he'd bought from a deli two blocks away. As Sarek and T'Val prepare to depart, Sarek says, "I will return in five days. We will discuss your notification of your bond and Jim's gender and pregnancy to Starfleet then, if that is acceptable for you."

Spock nods, and Jim says, "Okay," followed by a mirthless smile after which Jim murmurs, "They're gonna go after me but good."

"They can try," Sarek replies coolly, echoing his son's resolute words without even knowing it, and there's no way that Jim _can't_ smile genuinely after that.

It is at the open front door, with T'Val already out in the hallway, that Sarek turns to Jim and says, "Jim, as a new citizen of New Vulcan, you are welcome at any time to peruse our libraries and information databases regarding our people and our way of life."

Uh oh, Sarek is looking at him with eyes that he usually sees on _Bones_ instead, a sharp and _knowing_ gaze -

"All you have to do," Sarek adds, tilting his head, "is ask for permission."

Jim stares back at Sarek with wide eyes while Spock glances at him with one highly angular eyebrow raised. Oh, shit. _Ooh_ shit, Sarek _definitely_ knows about him hacking into New Vulcan's databases and servers, and he now has a taste of Sarek's sense of humor too, which is so dry that even Bones would be impressed. (Actually, Bones would probably _love_ this guy just for being able to put Jim in his place with a single line and look.)

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Jim says, nodding sagely, and this time Sarek doesn't correct him, knowing he's also saying, _I promise I will never do it again, sir_.

Sarek is obviously _not_ displeased with him, for Sarek lifts one hand in a ta'al and bids them farewell with, "Dif-tor heh smusma, so-fular t'nash-veh." _Live long and prosper, my sons._

Sarek doesn't know that he is fluent in Vulcan, and so he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like an idiot all over again. Whoa, Sarek really _does_ consider him family, his _son_. He can't get much better approval than _that_.

"Sochya eh dif, sa-mekh," Spock replies for both of them with a ta'al of his own. _Peace and long life, father_.

Five seconds after the door closes, Jim says to Spock, "And people seriously, actually think you guys have no sense of humor."

Twenty seconds after the door closes, Jim and Spock are on their bed making out like horny teenagers and hey, everything's all right. Everything's going to be all right.

During dinner that evening, Jim confesses his hacking of New Vulcan databases and Spock's records to his bondmate, who raises that eyebrow at him again. It takes Jim about three minutes and five mouthfuls of homemade spaghetti Bolognese to realize, thanks to their bond, that Spock is actually _pleased_ that Jim went to such lengths to learn more about him and his people.

"You're happy. You're actually happy I hacked into your records," Jim says as they wash the dishes together, grinning at Spock.

"Jim," Spock says with an austere expression, which is hilarious when combined with Spock wiping the dishes and utensils dry using a washcloth embroidered with yellow baby chicks. "It would be most illogical of me to be happy about you illegally accessing my records so that you may learn more about me and contemplate on me and my history throughout the day."

See? His Vulcan can be sassy and sneaky when he wants to be.

Jim is _pretty_ sure at this point that sneakiness is some universal Spock trait, because two days after Sarek's visit with T'Val, on an early Thursday afternoon, Jim and Spock get a very surprising but satisfying visit from the _other_ Spock.

"Spock!" Jim – in a loose, navy sweater and sweatpants - exclaims after opening the apartment's front door and seeing their unanticipated visitor. "Nashaut!"

Spock – yeah, okay, _Selek_ doesn't cringe at all when Jim lunges at him to give him a bone-crushing hug. Selek is attired in black-and-brown robes similar to the ones Sarek had worn, but there are also thick, golden lines decorating the flowing sleeves. (Jim will discover later that they are a silent tribute to _his_ Jim and no, that doesn't make Jim's eyes _leak_ or anything like that.) Selek returns his hug with both arms around his ribs, which is shocking in itself since Jim had expected Selek to just stand still and wordlessly tolerate the embrace. (Jim will discover later that it's because _his_ Jim used to hug him the same way, just before he lost his Jim forever to a hull breach and lived for ninety-four years without his Jim before being sent to this reality through the wormhole and _no_ , that doesn't make Jim's eyes fucking leak or _anything_ like that.)

"Nashaut, Jim," Selek greets in return with that low, _low_ , resonant voice, just like his Spock's but somehow richer. Now that Jim knows how much his Spock loves him, now that he and his Spock are t'hai'la, he can hear in Selek's voice the same devotion when Selek says his name. (And when Jim browses through his Spock's memories later, he will see Selek embracing him tightly at the open door, those wrinkled, deep brown eyes shut as if the engaging, tender-hearted old Vulcan needed to regain his composure just from holding Jim in his arms and no, _no_ , no eye-leaking happens, none, shut up.)

Spock, his Spock, is already standing nearby with his hands behind him in the vestibule of the apartment that leads to the living room. Spock's Human casual clothing of a short-sleeved, electric blue t-shirt and jeans is a stark contrast in style and culture to Selek's Vulcan ceremonial robes.

Jim lets Selek into the apartment and then shuts the front door behind them. When he turns around, he sees Selek and Spock staring at each other, Spock expressionless albeit attentive and Selek … looking bowled over.

"Selek?" Jim asks, standing at the old Vulcan's side and glancing at him with concerned eyes. "Are you okay?"

Selek stares at a silent Spock for several more seconds. Then, Selek hones those wrinkled, _intense_ eyes on Jim's face. Jim's breath hitches in his throat when Selek lifts one hand to the side of his face, as if Selek wants to mindmeld with him (again), as if Selek doesn't even realize he's doing it. Selek's hand withdraws just an inch away from his face. Selek turns his head to gaze at Spock again and now, now Jim can see the _light_ in Selek's crinkled, _exultant_ eyes.

"At last," Selek says, to both of them and that's when Jim realizes that Selek _knows_.

"Yeah, Spock and I are t'hai'la," Jim says, grinning at Selek, fighting the overwhelming urge to give Selek another bone-crushing hug. "You knew all along, didn't you? You sneaky Vulcan."

Selek's gleaming eyes crinkle so much that he may as well be smiling although his lips remain straight.

Spock steps nearer to them, and Jim stands between the two Spocks while they face each other. He glances from one Vulcan to the other, dazed even now by the fact that there are two Spocks here with him, that one of them is from an alternate reality where another James Tiberius Kirk existed, another Jim who had become the captain of the Enterprise too with a half-Human Vulcan CSO and commander. An alternate reality where Spock had loved his Jim too (and still does).

"Indeed, Jim and I – as you said to me in that hangar – have developed a friendship that has defined us in ways that I could not yet realize, ways that I never thought could be possible," Spock says. "You said to me that you could not deprive me of the revelation of all that we could accomplish together. Why did you not tell me then that Jim and I are t'hai'la? It would have been enough to persuade me. We -" Spock pauses and looks at Jim, and Jim's throat constricts at the vulnerability, the _regret_ he sees in Spock's eyes. "We could have saved so much time."

Selek, now with a more impassive face but eyes no less warm, replies, "It would be truly remiss of me to deprive you of the joy of such a revelation. Would it not?"

Spock says nothing to that. Spock gazes at his older, alternate self for a long while. Then, lowering his eyes, Spock acknowledges the logic of Selek's decision with a deferential nod. Jim smiles softly at Spock, then at Selek. It hits him hard, so hard at that moment, as he studies Selek's lined yet still so familiar and handsome face, that _this_ is what his Spock will look like in the coming decades, with that thick head of salt-and-pepper hair still in that distinctive bowl haircut, with all those delightful laugh lines around those twinkling, vivacious eyes and those green-tinged lips that have thinned with age but are no less appealing.

Laugh lines.

Laugh lines, from years and _years_ of being with a Human who must have felt _so_ much, who must have _loved_ so much for all that _feeling_ to forever leave its imprint on a Vulcan visage.

Jim's eyes widen with epiphany as he continues to stare at Selek. Holy shit. Holy shit on a Romulan's jumbo mollusk, Selek knew from the start that he and his Spock are t'hai'la because he and _his_ Jim … were t'hai'la too. He and his Jim were t'hai'la who found each other too. Who found their friend, their life-long companion, their lover, their soulmate in each other. He and his Jim were t'hai'la too and maybe … maybe _all_ the Jims and Spocks who exist in the universe, in every alternate reality possible are t'hai'la too, who find each other despite all the odds, who bond and love and _cherish_ each other, until the very end.

 _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, k'hat'n'dlawa. Abi'maut-shaht_.

Gradually, Selek becomes a blur of colorful blobs under the sunny ceiling light of the vestibule. Jim can still see enough that he can tell when Selek is gazing at him, that Selek is now the one gazing at him with concern.

"Jim?" Selek asks. "What is the matter?"

Jim can sense Spock's gaze on him too. He quickly rubs across his eyes with the pad of a thumb, but one tear escapes anyway and rolls down his right cheek. He huffs and rolls his stinging eyes in frustration at himself and his unmanageable _feelings_.

"It's just stupid hormones, that's all," Jim mutters, swiping at his eyes again, sniffling once. "I'm not a crybaby. Really."

Jim almost loses it again when Selek raises a highly angular eyebrow exactly like his Spock does.

"I was unaware that hormones can be stupid. And unless my old eyes deceive me, you do not look anything like a kan-bu."

Jim huffs out a faint laugh, which causes Selek's eyes to crinkle even more. Oh man, Selek even has Spock's desert-dry brand of humor and of course he does, of _course_ he does. He's Spock from an alternate reality. A Spock who also had a Jim he piqued into laughter, who had years and _years_ of practice to make his Jim forget his despondency with a mere line or look.

Jim can't wait to grow old with his Spock. He can't wait to grow old with his Spock and their little, sweet baby. (And maybe, _maybe_ they'll have _more_ children in the future. Who can say? He certainly won't brush off the impossible now as easily as he did in the past, not when a miracle is literally growing inside him.)

"Jim, I do not have the necessary context for your comments. Why are your hormones influencing the frequency of your tears?"

Jim feels Spock's fingers brush his flank as Spock asks Selek, "Are you informed of the Alpha/Beta/Omega gender dynamics of Humans in this reality?"

"I am."

Jim nods at Spock when Spock looks to him for tacit permission to speak further.

Spock gazes back at Selek and says, "Jim is an Omega. He is referring to his fluctuating hormone levels as a result of his pregnancy."

Selek's eyebrows shoot up his creased forehead in overt surprise. Selek glances sharply at Jim, then at Spock, then at Jim again.

"You are _pregnant_?" Selek asks, his low voice subdued by fascination, by _wonder_. "Pregnant with -"

Once again, Selek glances sharply at Spock. Spock nods once, slowly, his own eyes crinkled and gleaming. Jim watches as the magnitude and meaning of Spock's nod sinks in for Selek, as the light in Selek's eyes grows and _grows_ until Selek's entire _face_ is beaming with fascination and wonder and _elation_.

Selek's hands, when they reach out to grasp Jim and Spock by the forearms, are quivering. Neither Jim or Spock comment on it.

"I am … so gratified for you both," Selek says with a gravelly voice, and neither Jim or Spock comment on the feeling so apparent in Selek's voice either. (Jim can't speak anyway, what with the gargantuan lump that's suddenly lodged itself in his throat.)

Selek releases their forearms, then holds his hands behind him. Jim knows his own Spock well enough by now that it's also Selek's way of reattaining his equanimity.

"Once, my Enterprise discovered an M-class planet which had two suns and fine, black onyx sand and cool, calm seas the color of vivid viridian," Selek says with a much more steady, clearer voice. "My Jim and I strolled down the beach of one such sea during our exploration of the planet. We were alone when he bent down and picked up a discarded, red-and-gold shell akin to that of the nautilus on Earth. He showed it to me, and then he said, 'One day, Spock, we shall return here with our children.'"

Selek's gaze has become distant, transported to another time, another reality. Jim and Spock remain silent as Selek says, "It was the one time that my Jim mentioned children to me. It was also the day he told me that he was done with pleasure planets and relationships with anyone else, because he had already found the companion he needed for life. And a child, he said, would be nice. A child or two. A Human for me, and a Vulcan for him." The light in Selek's eyes flares with deep fondness. Then, like a cloud passing over the sun, it dims as Selek murmurs, "Once, my Jim spoke to me of children. Once upon a time."

Jim, with that gargantuan lump still choking him, reaches out and strokes Selek's upper arms over the flowing sleeve of his robes. Spock speaks for both of them.

"Tushah nash-veh k'du," Spock says, his own hands held behind his back. _I grieve with thee_.

Selek acknowledges the condolences with a nod.

"Do not be sad for me. His body may be lost, but his katra is forever bound to mine. Like you and Jim, we were t'hai'la also. When I die, my Jim and I shall return to each other once more. Like my Jim and I, you were destined to find each other and become bondmates, to become t'hai'la. And you have." Selek gazes at them, the ends of his green-tinged lips curled up. "Nam-tor n'kunli." _Be happy_.

Jim and Spock let Selek walk ahead of them into the living room. When Jim reaches for Spock's hand, he finds Spock's hand reaching for his at the same time. They say nothing to each other with their mouths. Their fingers, entwined, are enough.

Selek hangs out with them for a few easygoing, pleasant hours with chilled glasses of Hivas (that are still a fabulous purple) and cookies (not chocolate ones, those make Vulcans _drunk_ and Spock learned that the, uh, _hard_ way). Selek updates them on the advancing construction of more settlements and expansion of the Vulcan Science Academy and other recent developments on New Vulcan. Jim is amused as hell that rumors of him becoming a citizen of New Vulcan have already spread like wildfire among the Vulcans. His first visit to New Vulcan with Spock ought to be _very_ interesting.

When Jim speaks, both Spocks gaze at him with unblinking, enraptured eyes from deceptively impassive faces. Selek, in particular, looks at him as he's … some kind of _marvel_. Like he's an impossibility become possible, a miracle become reality. Like he's a dream come true. A hope made tangible. A person worthy of love and respect, just as he is.

And Jim thinks, as both Spocks gaze at him with that indubitable light of happiness and fulfillment in those big, brilliant, intense, deep brown eyes, that maybe it isn't so bad being an Omega man after all.

The late afternoon sky is a pellucid and azure one as he and Spock see Selek off in an aircar outside their apartment building. Again, Selek grasps their forearms while they stand side by side, and they gaze silently and respectfully at him.

"Ma dular natyan," Selek says to them solemnly, looking them each in the eye. "Teretuhr lau shetau dular weh-lo'uk do hau-ov t'on." _You have differences. May you, together, become greater than the sum of both_.

It's a play on one of Surak's teachings, but Jim also accepts it for the sincere blessing that it is for their t'hai'la bond and their baby. Selek makes them both promise to go to New Vulcan after the baby is born and to visit him there. He also wishes them luck with Starfleet and the upcoming battle they will have over Jim's Omega status, and vows to assist them as well as Sarek any way he can.

Standing on the sidewalk with Spock beside him, Jim waves farewell at Selek who waves back from inside the departing aircar until it turns a corner and out of sight. Jim is still smiling as he turns his head to gaze up at Spock. He sees Spock's face in profile while Spock continues to look into the distance, lit from behind by the mild albeit dazzling sun.

Here and now, Spock, his Spock, is still young. Spock's hair is still space-black and immaculate. Spock's skin is still smooth and supple, creasing around the eyes when he's happy (and Jim, only Jim, can see it). Spock's lips are still green-tinged and luscious and so kissable. But Spock's eyes will never change, Jim knows that now. No matter how many years, how many _decades_ pass, a golden sun will always shine in them and from them, as long as he and Spock live in each other's minds. In each other's hearts and souls.

Their katras, forever bound, untouchable even by death itself.

Jim gazes at Spock until Spock turns around to face him, standing with his hands behind his back once more. Jim chuckles when Spock raises an eyebrow at him, at his single-minded staring and in full view of anyone passing by or observing them, he slides his arms around Spock's waist as he tilts his head back to continue gazing up at Spock's familiar, handsome, unforgettable face.

"Rok-tor nash-veh ta shetau etek os teretuhr," Jim says to Spock, words he thought he would only ever have the chance to say in another reality but maybe has in _all_ realities. _I hope that we grow old together_.

"We will," Spock replies, his face Vulcan-blank but his eyes shining, shining.

Jim chuckles again, tightening his arms around his bondmate and swaying them from side to side, his burgeoning belly nestled safely between them.

"You're so sure of that, huh?" he rasps, wrapping his hands around Spock's behind Spock's back. There's something hilarious _and_ exhilarating about Spock letting him do that, knowing that they're making out big time the Vulcan way in public just by holding hands like this.

Spock is still lit from behind by the sun. Spock is his Vulcan, his towering, evergreen tree sheltering him and their baby. Spock tangles their fingers behind his back.

"Nam-tor du t'nash-veh, eh nam-tor nash-veh t'du," Spock says, and through their bond, Jim can feel the immeasurable love that Spock has for him, that Spock doesn't show on his face.

 _You belong to me, and I belong to you_.

And Jim, unable to find any logical argumentation against that assertion in the light of all they have already experienced together and all that they will experience together, shuts his eyes with a tender smile and acknowledges the good sense of his t'hai'la with a deferential nod.

   
<<< >>>

 

Jim demands his Vulcan husband for homemade, fresh ameelah and le-sum-krim, heaping bowls of both to cope with his Vulcan food cravings, because he can and of course he does.


	3. My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After beginning this story a month ago, losing the first draft of thousands of words, getting konked out by Christmas and getting a dying-computer scare ... it is finally _complete_. My gosh. Did you know I intended this to be just 10k words long? *looks at 67k final count* Yes, people, _laugh with me_.
> 
> The only two things that come to mind regarding any notes or warnings for this final part are: 1) a big thank you to various Star Trek wikis for the excerpts used in Spock's speech and, 2) the childbirth section will definitely be graphic to some readers, also because of intense emotions running high and the tense situation Jim and Spock are stuck in. I leave it to your discretion!
> 
> So without ado, here's more Bones! Sulu! Scotty! Chekov! Uhura - uh, wait, Nyota! And Sarek! Selek! Many other people I cannot mention so I don't spoil stuff! And of course ... _BABY_.
> 
> Again, thank you all so, _so_ much for the kind comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. Y'all are the best and make my day!
> 
> P.S. I will do my best to reply as soon as I get my computer issues fixed and deal with New Year's. Good lord, all I can say about 2016 is, it's already taken Grandpa Nimoy and Anton Yelchin, _it better not take anyone else from Star Trek, goddamnit_.

As expected, Starfleet is nowhere near gratified when Jim informs them that, one, he's actually an Omega; two, he's a _pregnant_ Omega; three, he's a pregnant Omega who got knocked up by his _Vulcan chief science officer and commander_ and, four, they're also the highest, coolest, most _badass_ level of bondmates possible that New Vulcan will defend with all their pre-Surak might. Starfleet is, as a matter of fact, pissed off as _hell_.

As Bones predicted, after Jim enters a plea of not guilty to the charge of identity fraud, Jim is placed under house arrest until Starfleet arranges an official date for his preliminary hearing. Or as Jim prefers to call it, his upcoming Kirk-On-A-Spit Roast. Spock doesn't like the imagery it evokes at all, but hey, Jim _did_ tell him that it won't be pretty: without Pike as a bastion of encouragement and backing in the organization, he's got nobody now in the upper echelons to shore him up. He tries so hard not to consider what Pike would think of him now, an intergalactic _celebrity_ that _everyone_ knows now is an Omega and not an Alpha. Something even _Pike_ hadn't known about him.

By the time Starfleet does pick an official date – which will be twenty-one days from the day of him entering his plea - Earth's mass media and global news channels have discovered the truth about him … and are waging an all-out _war_ on Starfleet and its exposed anti-Omega discrimination, impaling _them_ on a spit instead of Jim. It's a turn of events that hits Jim like a ton of bricks on the head.

In the rented, sunshine-filled apartment he shares with Spock, he sits on the leather couch in the living room and gapes at the holographic television as it displays continuous reports about him being an Omega Starfleet captain who's saved Earth at least twice, who is if not even more heroic than his father, George Kirk, an Alpha. He gapes at the news segments showing the tens of thousands-strong street protest marching towards Starfleet Headquarters, passing by the apartment mere blocks away (and he's glad that his location is still a secret, that no one at Starfleet has leaked it yet). He gapes at the tens of thousands-strong street protests happening _all over the world_ in capitals and major cities, waving pro-Omega banners and large photographs of him in his formal grays and shouting in unison, "Omega Libera! Omega Libera!" (Jim will later learn that that's the Omega Rights movement's slogan from Spock who'd learned from his _dad_ , who'd learned it from the two attorneys he'd appointed in advance.)

He definitely, _definitely_ gapes at _Sulu_ participating in the San Francisco demonstration with an Asian man of similar age and a rosy-faced, little girl who can't be older than three years cuddled in his arms. Sulu is interviewed by one of the reporters at the scene, and it's evident to Jim that the little girl in Sulu's arms is his daughter and that the other Asian man is Sulu's _partner_.

After confirming that he is indeed the helmsman of the USS Enterprise, Sulu hugs the other, smiling Asian man closer to him and says with a grin, "And this is Ben, my Omega husband, who's an accomplished man in his own right, the father of our perfect kid right here and the most amazing companion in life anyone could ask for." Sulu then glances at the camera, still grinning. He waves one hand blithely along with his husband at the camera while their daughter clings to his neck. "Hey, Captain! I'll be seeing you on the bridge of the Enterprise soon, sir!"

Jim is smiling himself by then, although he has to blink several times to see the screen clearly again. Bones isn't his only Human ally on the crew after all. He had no idea until now that Sulu is gay, much less happily married to an Omega man with a young child. How many others on the crew are actually accepting of Omegas too? How many of them are accepting of an Omega captain?

He doesn't know. But hard or easy, either way, he's going to find out.

A few hours later, curled up against Spock while they sprawl on the couch after a simple lunch of pimento-cheese sandwiches, he continues watching the news coverage of the spirited, massed rally outside Starfleet Headquarters. He also gets a call from Bones in Georgia.

"My god, kid," Bones says to Jim via the landline phone, with his own television on and Jo-Jo talking in the background. "Are you _seeing_ all this?"

Jim feels as floored as Bones sounds.

"Yeah, Leo," he says, grasping the slim, small, wireless phone to his ear as he gapes on at the screen, at the exciting, overwhelming and _vast_ public demonstration of support for him and all Omegas. "I see. I see."

" _Now_ do you get me? Now do you get why I don't want you to ever call yourself you-know- _what_ again?"

Jim leans his head against Spock's broad shoulder. He feels Spock's hand ruffling his hair at the crown of his head.

"I think I'm beginning to," Jim murmurs to Bones, feeling warm, so warm and _safe_. He wishes he could be there on the streets with Sulu and his lovely family, with all the good people who've come out in moral support of him and of Omega rights like never before in history.

In the end, Starfleet doesn't even get its Kirk-On-A-Spit Roast. His tried-and-true, incredible crew as well as Sarek and his team of assistants (including Selek, bless that tender-hearted, old Vulcan) are making damn sure of _that_. Sulu isn't the only crew member to be interviewed by global news channels about Jim and Omega rights: Scotty gets some limelight while he's in Edinburgh, Scotland spending time with his sprightly, ninety-nine-year-old grandmother. Chekov gets some limelight too while he's in Saint Petersburg, Russia with his parents and six siblings, as cute and animated as he ever is while drowning in a fluffy, black coat that makes him look like a big bear ate him. Uhura is interviewed after being located in New York City at a xenolinguistics convention. Bones is the last to be found, caught by reporters while leaving a supermarket with Jo-Jo holding his hand and munching on an enormous cone of chocolate ice cream.

The four of them have only the very best things to say about him as a Starfleet officer and as the captain of the Enterprise. Chekov goes on and on about how he'd tried to save Vulcan and then saved the late Admiral Pike and also Earth. Scotty speaks with glistening eyes about what he'd done in the Enterprise's warp core chamber to restore its engines and save its whole crew before Khan's attack on San Francisco. Uhura brings up, of all things, his friendship and unique, history-changing bond with Spock, citing the bond alone as proof of him being an indispensable member of Starfleet who will evolve Human-Vulcan relations in ways nobody can realize yet. Bones, gruff and no-nonsense man that he is, just says that his captain is the 'best friend he's ever had and will have, the bravest and kindest soul he's ever known, and who in the Sam Hill cares about gender when it's _action_ that counts'. (And Bones honestly thinks of himself as a hostile hardass with no _heart_.)

Then, there is Spock.

Spock – who Jim will later learn had been advised by the attorneys Sarek appointed and Selek – records a holovideo of himself in his formal grays at the Vulcan Consulates in Sausalito making a statement about the whole situation. It's diplomatic and eloquent as Jim would expect of any Vulcan. It's also the one that gets to Jim like none of the others and turns him into an emotional, big blimp of a mess _again_.

"When the United Federation of Planets was officially established in 2161," Spock says in the broadcast holovideo, standing tall and confident with his hands behind him, "a treaty known as the Charter of the United Federation of Planets was signed and ratified here in San Francisco by representatives from Earth, Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar. An excerpt from the charter goes, 'We, the lifeforms of the United Federation of Planets, are determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, and to reaffirm faith in the fundamental rights of sentient beings, in the dignity and worth of all lifeforms, in the equal rights of members of planetary systems large and small, and to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of interstellar law can be maintained, and to promote social progress and better standards of living on all worlds.'

"The same year, Starfleet Academy was established as an exploratory and defensive force of the United Federation of Planets, to explore unknown territory on the behalf of the Federation government, to defend the Federation and its allies from threats, to further Federation policies and interests throughout interstellar space, and, when applicable, to initiate first contact with newly-discovered worlds and to engage in diplomatic negotiations on the behalf of the Federation.

"It is therefore troubling that Starfleet, as the representative of the United Federation of Planets to the known galaxy, has been actively engaging in bigotry towards Omega Humans behind closed doors while publicly claiming that they are not. Although there are no official rules regarding this in Starfleet, Omegas are forbidden from registering for command track solely on the implied, unreasonable basis that they are unfit to be leaders. They are thus restricted by Starfleet to serve only in minor positions at Headquarters, the Academy or on starbases, and are always rejected when applying for positions given only to Alphas or Betas."

Spock pauses for a loaded moment, then says while staring at the camera with those big, brilliant, intense eyes, "My captain, James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise, is an Omega man. He circumvented Starfleet's discriminatory policies by masking his Omega traits and succeeded in enrolling for command track, becoming the top student in survival strategies and tactical analysis, the assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand combat, and was also Treasurer of the Academy's xenolinguistics club. As a cadet, Captain Kirk had also served a semester on the USS Farragut under Captain Stephen Garrovick and was awarded the Palm Leaf of Axanar Peace Mission of valor in 2256.

"If my captain had not chosen to defy Starfleet's discriminatory policies, he would never have ended up on the Enterprise the day Nero attacked my home planet with the Narada and destroyed it completely. He would not have been there to convince Admiral Pike and myself about Nero's trap and save the Enterprise from being obliterated like other Federation starships before us. He would never have been sent down by Admiral Pike to disable the Narada's drill platform along with Lieutenant Sulu and Chief Engineer Olson, an act that bought precious time for some of my people – including my father, Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador to Earth – to escape Vulcan before its destruction."

Again, Spock pauses for another loaded moment, still staring at the camera. Then, perhaps only perceptibly to Jim, Spock's deep brown eyes soften and gleam with a light so familiar, so sun-like.

"Because of my captain, Earth was spared the fate of my home planet when he defeated Nero only after Nero refused to surrender peacefully. Because of my captain, the planet Nibiru and its natives were saved from global extinction with a cold fusion device in the volcano that threatened to erupt. Because of my captain, the entire crew of the Enterprise was saved once again when he sacrificed himself by entering the ship's heavily radiated warp core chamber to knock a central component back in place so that the ship did not crash onto Earth. Because of my captain, the new Federation planet V'roshau and its five billion inhabitants were spared a global invasion by a neighboring enemy."

Spock stares at the camera, stares at Jim with those eyes whose golden warmth only Jim can see.

"Because of my captain, the Earth remains a whole and prosperous home for its nine billion inhabitants. Because of my captain, we on Earth, New Vulcan, Nibiru and V'roshau have awakened today with our loved ones still here to greet us, to be with us. Because of my captain, an Omega man and my cherished bondmate, I am not alone, even as a child of two worlds with one gone forever. I am eternally grateful for all that. And for him."

Spock might as well have said to the world, to the galaxy, _I love you, my captain, my Jim_. He might as well have said, _I still do_. He might as well have also said, _I always will_.

And yes, when Spock returns to the apartment three hours later in the evening, Jim makes sure to hit Spock _hard_ on the chest with his hands, nevermind that Spock doesn't even move an _inch_ from the blows and Spock's eyes are crinkled and twinkling even as his own eyes sting, brim and overflow yet again from stupid, stupid, effing stupid _hormones_. (Spock still gives the best hugs.)

"I'm grateful for you too. Eternally," Jim rasps against Spock's shoulder as Spock embraces him with those sinewy, dependable arms. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, t'hai'la. I know."

(In the months after Spock's holovideo is broadcast by Earth's news channels as well as the Federation News Service, the Spockian Brigade forum on the Galactic Computer Network _booms_ with new members. Jim finds a fan club and forum dedicated to _him_ , too, set up a few days after the broadcast and the Omega Rights movement officially choosing him as the face of their campaign, booming also with thousands of new members per day. But the best one, to Spock's chagrin _and_ resignation and to Jim's undying glee, is a forum dedicated to their _relationship_ , abounding with fan-made art, stories and holovideos about them and wow- _wee_ , are some of them sexually explicit and _hot as hell_. Jim has a blast loading his favorite images onto Spock's PADD and reading aloud the really raunchy tales that make that endearing green flush spread across Spock's face.)

And then, there is Number One.

Obviously, Number One isn't her real name, but the nickname Pike had given her decades ago when they met and befriended each other on board the USS Aldrin as its first and second officers. Jim has never learned her real name, knowing only that she'd later become the USS Olympus' first officer and helmsman, and was well-known in Starfleet for being an exceptionally intelligent and rational officer who Pike had greatly admired. Jim has always suspected that Pike and Number One were lovers too until his death, but Pike was even more taciturn than Jim (and Spock) about his personal life. Whoever they were to each other, Pike is undoubtedly someone for whom Number One still cares and loves.

Number One is tall, slim and dark-skinned in a Nile Valley way, seemingly ageless and so expressionless that even a Vulcan would be envious of her impassivity. Her black, straight hair is tied up into a severe bun on top of her head. Her heavy-lidded, brown eyes are piercing and fearless. She's attired in Starfleet formal grays as she stands at the metallic podium on a stage set up at the ongoing, even more packed Omega Rights rally outside of Starfleet Headquarters.

Jim and Spock watch her on the holographic television in their living room as she speaks about the late Admiral Christopher Pike and how he'd aided in the defeat of Nero and the Narada. She speaks about how he'd regularly advocated for Jim, believing that Jim would achieve even more honorable, history-shaping acts of valor than his father did. Then, with eight enunciated words while staring at the camera, staring at Jim, Number One rocks the very foundations of Jim's world and changes it irrevocably.

"Admiral Christopher Pike was an Omega man, too."

Number One continues to stare at the camera, at a dumbfounded, wide-eyed Jim and a wordless Spock, while camera flashes wash over her like lightning strikes and reporters shout and clamber over each other to get their questions heard by her. The crowd around the stage is buzzing from the bombshell, amplifying the cacophony to deafening levels.

Jim doesn't remember much after that. He remembers Spock swaddling him in a woolen blanket and arranging him on his side on the couch, careful of his rounded belly and their baby inside. He remembers the landline phone ringing and ringing and Spock picking it up again and again, speaking to the callers in the kitchen and out of his coherent hearing.

Eventually, Spock returns to his side, sitting on the edge of the couch and handing him the wireless phone. Number One is on the other end of the line.

"He tried _so_ hard to change things at Starfleet, Jim. He really did. But he knew he couldn't do it alone. He knew he wasn't the one who could and would do it, whether it was on his own or with allies," Number One says to him with that mellifluent voice. "Why do you think he was so determined to get you into Starfleet? It wasn't just because he'd written that dissertation on the USS Kelvin and on your father. Why do you think he was so tough on you? He knew _you_ would do what he couldn't. He knew you would change the game. Destroy the rules, even. And you have, haven't you?"

"Why didn't he tell me?"

Jim doesn't give a fuck that his voice sounds like it's been raked across molten coal, like a little, lost boy's.

"Can you blame him for not doing so? You, of all people, know why he didn't, why he _couldn't_. It was his burden to bear, and he knew you already had enough to bear on your own," Number One replies, her voice gentler. "He would have told you the truth, in time, if Khan hadn't murdered him. Him not telling you doesn't mean that he didn't trust you. On the contrary, he never stopped believing in you, even after Nibiru. He was proud of you, Jim. He told me that. He couldn't tell you, not in direct words, but he was proud of you for valuing life and hope over blindly obeying the rules, the rules that yoked him even as an admiral." Number One falls silent for a few seconds. Then, she murmurs, "You made him believe in reaching for the stars again, until the very end. You brought their light back into his eyes. And I will always be grateful for that."

After the calls ends, Spock lies on his side on the couch with him, buttressing him between a sun-hot body and the back of the couch. Spock says nothing. He says nothing either. He presses his face into the cottony white of Spock's t-shirt, but there are no tears in his eyes.

He asks Spock afterward if his mother or brother has called. Spock says no. He doesn't ask about them again. There are no tears in his eyes then, either.

In the aftermath of his crew's interviews and statements plus Number One's mind-blowing disclosure about Pike, Starfleet is in utter chaos, scrambling to do whatever damage control they can in the galactic eye and failing even that. The preliminary hearing is canceled to the raucous applause of the persisting rally outside Headquarters. Jim and Spock are informed that the admirals have scheduled an emergency meeting at Headquarters and that Jim remains under house arrest (his prenatal checkups at Starfleet Medical notwithstanding) until things have been duked out at this meeting.

Jim and Spock are later informed by Admiral Barnett via a call that things were _literally_ duked out at the meeting, with punches and full-body lunges flying between anti-Omega admirals and pro-Omega admirals who are finally coming out of the woodwork. It was, as Barnett puts it, a 'carnival of violence and childish tantrums that would put berserk two-year-olds high on sugar to shame'.

"But you should know, Kirk," Barnett says with a smile in his voice, "the pro-Omega admirals easily outnumbered the anti ones three to one. And I'm one of the pro ones. You've got more friends in the fleet than you think." Barnett chuckles, then adds fondly, "Chris got the last laugh, didn't he? That cunning bastard."

Jim laughs for a full minute after _that_ call. Spock reveals nothing on his face, but Jim feels Spock's amusement too through their bond. Bones laughs even harder than Jim when Jim tells him all about it during another call from Bones.

"Bunch of ignorant, genderist idiots," Bones says between cackles about the anti-Omega admirals. "They're so dumb, they could throw themselves on the ground and still miss!"

Mere days later, Starfleet announces that Jim not only gets to stay in Starfleet as captain of the Enterprise, he and Spock will remain Captain and Commander and resume their five-year mission once the Enterprise has been repaired. Instead of reprimanding Jim for his concealment of his Omega status, Starfleet will strive to remove posthaste all forms of anti-Omega discrimination from its system under the watchful eye of the Vulcan, Andorian and Tellarian High Councils. Omegas will now be permitted to register for command track, with heat suppressants subsidized like rut suppressants always have been by Starfleet.

Jim gets to keep his job. Jim gets to keep his beautiful, magnificent ship. Jim gets to keep his Vulcan chief science officer and commander, his bondmate. Jim even gets to keep their baby with them on board the Enterprise, under Vulcan law and Constitution stipulations regarding Vulcan bondmates and family.

Against all the odds in the universe, Jim gets to keep it all.

Throughout the lifting of his house arrest and his appearance in the golden tunic of his rank at the Omega Rights rally outside Headquarters, throughout his succinct but thankful speech that receives an ear-splitting standing ovation, he thinks about Pike. Throughout the months of his stable pregnancy and after the dramatic birth of his baby during one of San Francisco's worst earthquakes in its history, he thinks about Pike. He thinks about the father he never had, the one man who'd believed in him enough to make him reach for the stars and touch them. A good man who was an Omega, just like him.

A good Omega man, who'd furtively collaborated with Bones to give him those really effective, _expensive_ heat suppressant shots. For _years_.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, Leo?!" Jim yells at Bones while they stand facing each other in the living room of a furnished apartment in the Vulcan Consulates, he and Spock having moved there after the earthquake had demolished the one they were staying in. "You _knew_ he was an _Omega_! All this time!"

Bones, in his utility jacket, white shirt and jeans, gazes at him with old, hazel-green eyes compassionate like a loving brother's. Spock is wisely staying out of this discussion, cuddling their one-month-old baby and keeping her company in her bedroom with the door partially shut.

"He told me not to. For obvious reasons -"

Jim rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air in exasperation and snarls, "Yeah, like that's a _reasonable excuse_ -"

"He wanted to _protect you_. He wanted to protect someone he _cared about_ ," Bones cuts in, calmly and quietly and incisively. "You know, something _you're_ guilty of doing often yourself, _Captain_."

Jim crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Bones with stark eyes and thinned lips. It doesn't cow Bones one bit.

"Think about it, Jim. Starfleet being as anti-Omega as it's been all this time? Do you think they would have supplied heat suppressants, much less _subsidized_ the ones that I was giving you? Those shots weren't those fickle, over-the-counter types with a chance of not working. Those were the best the market has to offer. Expensive as _hell_ and strictly regulated. You didn't even need that Alpha pheromone cologne, but I couldn't tell you that without you getting suspicious about the shots." Bones sighs heavily, his eyes still compassionate. "Who do you think paid for your shots _and_ guaranteed nobody found out about them? About you being an Omega? Who do you think had the money and _power_ to do that? Not me, that's for sure. I was just a _cadet_ like you when he came to me."

Jim begins to pace the floor in front of Bones, his arms still crossed over his chest, still scowling. Bones keeps those hazel-green eyes honed on him as he speaks again.

"What do you think you would have done if you'd known about Pike, hm? He _knew_ you. He knew you'd reject the shots once you realized he was paying for them and putting himself on the line to keep you in Starfleet. And once you rejected them, he knew – and _I_ knew – that you would go out there and find your own heat suppressants again and put yourself back at risk of being exposed as an Omega, with no one watching out for you."

Jim stomps to a halt and swivels around to face Bones again, a muscle in his lower jaw twitching from the pressure of his gritted teeth. He's breathing audibly, his chest rising and falling visibly, glaring and glaring at Bones.

"Deny it," Bones says calmly and quietly and assuredly, glowering right back at Jim.

Jim tries to open his mouth. He tries to bellow at Bones, to disprove everything Bones' said. He blows a furious breath through his nose. He tightens his arms even more across his chest.

His mouth stays shut. Words perish in his throat. He breathes, and breathes, and thinks about the father he never had, the one man who'd believed in him enough to make him reach for the stars and touch them. An Omega man just like him, who wanted to free himself and others like them from the cage the world had locked them in.

"He knew you, Jim," Bones murmurs, his eyes and voice compassionate once more and almost too much for Jim to bear. "He loved you."

 _He isn't the only one_ , Jim hears Bones say in the lines between those words, _not by a long shot, and now you know that too_.

Jim is staring out one of the windows of the living room as Bones speaks with Spock at the apartment's front door, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest. He can't hear what they're saying. He can't really see anything beyond the glass and the black-velvet night sky, beyond the red-eyed, scruffy reflection that stares back at him from the glass.

He doesn't turn around when Bones leaves. He doesn't turn around when Spock approaches him with their baby in those sinewy, dependable arms to stand at his side. He stares out the window and he doesn't blink as something wet and hot rolls down his cheek.

"Nobody knew who he really was, Spock, except for Number One and Bones," Jim rasps. "He died knowing that. He died knowing only _two people_ really knew him. He died knowing the world would remember and respect him for the Alpha he never was, not for the Omega he really was."

Spock says nothing. Their baby gurgles in his arms. Out of the corner of Jim's eye, he sees their baby extend a chunky arm towards him and he finally turns around to face his bondmate and daughter. He doesn't give a damn about the trails running down his face.

With his sharp Vulcan hearing, Spock would have heard everything Bones said, and it shows in the tender gleam in Spock's deep brown eyes, in the softness of Spock's familiar, handsome features. Spock, who had respected Pike and deemed him a friend too. Spock, who had held Pike in his arms and comforted him when he died.

Jim gazes down at their baby, at her sweet, chubby, green-tinged face, at her vivid-blue eyes that stare up at him. He smiles at her with all the love he's got in him, even with his streaked face that belies his smile.

He grasps her chunky hand and kisses it multiple times with his lips. He smiles again at her. Chuckles when she giggles and kicks her chunky legs and look so damn cute in her star-printed onesie. He strokes her wild, space-black curls, the pointed tips of her Vulcan ears.

"I'll be fine," Jim murmurs to Spock, after he raises his head to look his bondmate in the eye. He still doesn't give a damn about the trails running down his face.

"Fine has variable meanings," Spock murmurs in reply, using a thumb to wipe away one of those trails under Jim's vivid-blue eye. "But in this case, fine is acceptable."

Jim smiles at Spock too, and shuts his eyes for a moment. He opens them to find their baby girl reaching out for him again, for his face. He smiles once more at her. He bends down to let her touch tiny, curious fingers to his scruffy cheek, his tears, to let her smell his Omega scent and be comforted too.

"Your Human daddy's just being emotional, that's all," he says, basking in her delicate, soul-settling touch.

His daughter doesn't judge him for it. Neither does her Vulcan father, who draws him close with one arm and shelters them both in a nurturing embrace, also thinking about a good Omega man who is finally being remembered and respected for who he really was.

 

<<< >>>

 

"So," Jim says as he lies on his side in the supportive cradle of his soft, fluffy, Vulcan blush-green pregnancy pillow next to Spock sitting against the bed's cushioned headboard with a PADD in hand. "What's everyone posting on the Spockian Brigade forum these days?"

"It appears that my secret identity there is no longer secret," Spock replies, gazing down at the PADD's lit screen with an almost imperceptible furrow of his brow.

"Yes, 'Pointy-Ears' was a brilliant choice. Not suspicious or _obvious_ at all."

Spock glances at him and raises one of those highly angular eyebrows at him.

"Neither was 'SpocksAshayam4eva', Jim," Spock says with an expressionless face, with crinkled eyes. Then Spock glances back at his PADD. "I have received five thousand private messages, maxing out the inbox's capacity." Spock raises an eyebrow again. "Fascinating. It appears that at least 57.2 of them are from the same member in the past six days."

"How can there be a _0.2_ message?"

"One of the messages contains nothing but a truncated word which I presume to be 'please', typed and sent by accident."

Jim snickers and wriggles into a more comfortable position in the curve of the pillow against his back. His belly is so freaking _big_ these days that he can only sleep on his side until their baby pops out.

"The member's nickname is 'Spockismine'," Spock says, still expressionless, eyes even more crinkled. "Their latest message reads: 'My dear Spock, you have not answered me but I am always thinking of you. I have left my daddy's heirlooms on the astral plane so that you alone can retrieve them with your sneaky Vulcan powers. Please let me know when you have found them. I think you will look even more beautiful with them on.'"

By the last word, Jim is guffawing until his eyes are squeezes shut, enclosing his rotund belly with both arms. Their baby is emanating waves of happy warmth at him from inside him, which makes him laugh even more.

He rubs the bulge of his belly with one hand as he croaks, "Oh my god, are you for real? 'Daddy's heirlooms'? On the _astral plane_? Should I be worried here?"

"Jim, I will never stray from you," Spock replies, and although those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes are still crinkled, Jim also knows that Spock means it. "Not even for 'daddy's heirlooms on the astral plane'."

"I know, babe," Jim murmurs, chuckling softly, reaching out to stroke Spock's thigh.

"I believe the wisest course of action is to ignore all these messages and not post on the forum anymore."

"Aw, Spock, you're gonna disappoint your _fans_."

"I do not need fans. I only need you, Jim, and our daughter."

See? His Vulcan really is extraordinary and one-of-a-kind and sweet, even if said Vulcan still goes onto the forum under a new, equally imaginative nickname to vehemently object his perceived extraordinariness in long, formal sentences with no contractions.

(Later in the day, with his own PADD in hand while Spock naps beside him, Jim does a quick job of checking out the internet protocol address for 'Spockismine' and fires one succinct message to said member: 'Daddy's heirlooms and sneaky Vulcan powers, Bones? You big barrel of ASS.' But after those words are also a slew of laughing and smiling emoticons with a big, red heart at the end, so when Bones opens the message and reads it in his self-owned house in Georgia he's laughing too while a mac-and-cheese-full Jo-Jo asks her dad what's so funny.)

 

<<< >>>

 

Remember when Jim told his sweet baby who was still growing in his belly about earthquakes in San Francisco? Remember when Jim told his baby that the last time a really, really bad one happened was hundreds of years ago in 1906, and that the city has _great_ earthquake detectors and trackers now? Remember when Jim told his baby that they'll be _just fine_?

Yeah. Jim remembers. And he's thinking that _maybe_ somebody up there _doesn't_ love him as much as Bones thinks he does.

"Spock? _Spock_! Answer me! _SPOCK_!"

He can't open his eyes , not with the dust and grime gluing his eyelids together. His heart is hammering like _crazy_ in his chest. He's shivering all over from shock and he can't control it. He coughs out more dust from his mouth. He gasps for breath and coughs again. He's still sprawled on the couch, that much he's sure of, and that he still has all his limbs. He clutches at his bulging belly with both hands over his navy, v-neck sweater, checking it for injury, for wounds and he can't see, he can't tell if he's hurt, if his baby is hurt and Spock isn't answering, he doesn't know where Spock is and _he can't tell if his baby's hurt, he can't_ -

{Jim! Ashayam!}

Jim feels like breaking down into tears just hearing Spock's voice in his mind. He draws up his legs as much as he can onto the couch and against his belly. He hugs his belly with both arms and sucks in a shaky breath, then another, then another and then he hears feet scuffing the floor, heading towards him and then he feels exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands gripping his upper arms and a sob of utter relief bursts from his mouth.

{Spock! Spock, I can't see, I can't tell if I'm hurt, is she hurt, is she okay -}

{Jim, ashayam, you are unhurt. Our baby is safe. You must calm yourself. She is projecting acute anxiety in reaction to your own.}

Jim lets out another sob as he feels Spock's fingers gently wipe away the dust and grime from his eyelids and face.

"Sorry, sugar-bug," he whispers down at his belly, from where he can now sense their baby girl emanating waves of distress. "Daddy's just scared for you and your sa-mekh, that's all."

His eyes overflow with tears for a moment, then clear as he blinks and blinks again. When he can see again, he gasps at the sight of Spock carpeted in dust and grime from head to toe, his space-black hair now disheveled and cement-white in patches. Green blood is streaming down the left side of Spock's face from a gash that must be hidden under those bangs, dripping off his firm jawline onto his white, long-sleeved t-shirt.

"Spock, you're hurt," Jim croaks, touching Spock's cheek with a trembling hand, smearing the green blood there.

"Do not worry about me," Spock replies while caressing his face in return, brushing one of those long-fingered hands through his hair several times. He must look a total mess himself, if his eyes had been layered with so much grime.

He glances around what was once the tidy, spacious living room of their rented, sunshine-filled apartment. There's certainly no sunlight coming in now, not when all he sees are cracked walls and beams and fractured wood and protruding steel reinforcement bars surrounding them. Part of the ceiling has collapsed, becoming a precarious slope that looms over them and has crushed the living room windows. The front door is now obstructed by hulking debris. He really, _really_ hopes the reinforced columns of the building are still intact and holding strong, or they're _fucked_. At least the emergency lighting - installed and embedded into every building in the city for emergency situations precisely like this - is still working, dousing the environment in grim, white light.

The only opening he sees at all is above them and a few feet to their left, a ragged hole through what remains of the ceiling into open air that fits one man at a time. Spock can definitely climb through it and out, if they can find other sturdy objects to stack onto the couch and lend Spock some height.

When he glances at Spock, he sees Spock has stood up and is gazing up at the hole too.

"Spock," he starts to say.

"No, Jim."

" _Spock_ ," he says more firmly with his captain-voice, staring hard at Spock until Spock looks down at him, looks him in the eye. "You have to go find help. You have to leave me here. There's no way I can get up there, not when I'm almost nine months pregnant." He glances around at the teetering wreckage surrounding them, biting his lower lip, before looking up at Spock again. "And something tells me our PADDs didn't survive. Or the phone."

Spock is absolutely expressionless. Even his eyes seem blank, blank and wide and unseeing, unwilling to accept the reality presented to them. Spock's blood looks almost obscene upon his ashen skin and white t-shirt.

"The rest of the building may fall on us anyway," Jim adds, still locking eyes with Spock, unwilling to back down. "There are always aftershocks. Minor earthquakes following the big one. You know this."

Spock says nothing at all. Spock stares at him and kneels back down in front of him on the granular, dirty floor in brazen defiance of his orders. Spock grasps his upper arms again, stating plainly where he chooses to be. Jim glares at his blank-faced, obstinate Vulcan, at his blank-faced, obstinate, _mutinous_ bondmate who isn't _listening_ to him. Did that knock to Spock's head _do_ something to Spock? Why won't Spock just do what he says, for fuck's sakes?! If Spock stays here with him, there's a chance the building will collapse on _both of them_ (and oh god, oh god, _their baby too_ , no). If Spock gets out, he can seek help and be _safe_ when the aftershocks hit, at least one of them will -

Suddenly, Jim feels something _pop_ inside him between his legs, like someone cracking a knuckle. He grunts in surprise, then gasps as a gush of very warm fluid soaks the crotch of his black sweatpants in a matter of seconds.

"Jim?"

Spock stares at him and squeezes his stiff upper arms as he gapes at Spock, his eyes going round as he realizes what's just happened. He stretches one hand past his rotund belly and between his thighs that he spreads and … oh yeah, he didn't imagine it. It's really happened. Now. Right now. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit_.

"Oops," Jim blurts out, as Spock also touches him between his spread thighs and encounters the drenched results of his water breaking.

"The amniotic sac has ruptured," Spock says, his eyes also going round and wide. "You are going into labor."

"I'fa'farr, babe. She's coming whether we like it or not," Jim rasps, bowing his lips up into what he hopes is a dauntless smile while cursing his fate as the unlucky, _unlucky_ James Tiberius Kirk.

 

<<< >>>

 

At four months old, Jim's sweet baby girl is the chubbiest, jolliest, prettiest, smartest baby girl in the entire universe. She is. She really is, and anybody else who thinks otherwise can shut their pie-hole or get their asses kicked into the San Francisco bay outside. (That includes even Spock, but Spock thinks the same of their little, sweet baby girl so Spock won't be ending up in the Pacific ocean anytime soon with a boot print on his ass.)

Today Jim's dressed their baby in a blue, short-sleeved onesie the same color as Spock's uniform. He's even managed to tame her luxurious, space-black curls for once with a brush, tucking them behind her ears so their pointed tips won't be veiled. He'll never be able to make her hair flat and straight like Spock's, not without resorting to hair straighteners or whatever, but why the heck would he do that anyway? Her hair is perfect as it is.

(No Vulcan here in the Consulates has made a single unfavorable comment about her hair yet, or anything else about her, really. Everywhere Jim carries her, she's greeted with Vulcan-blank faces but crinkled, twinkling eyes. A few of those Vulcans have even offered their fingers for her to grip, their eyes twinkling even more when she quietly does and gazes at them calmly with her large, vivid-blue eyes. And who can blame even Vulcans for being enamored with his daughter? She is, after all, the chubbiest, jolliest, prettiest, smartest, most _perfect_ baby girl in the entire universe.)

"Look at you, you chunky, happy sugar-bug," Jim coos down at her while he cuddles her in his arms, rocking back and forth at a sedate pace on a solid, intricately engraved, wooden rocking chair. "You have five fat rolls on each arm, oh my goodness. I think we gotta cut down on all that _milk_."

Well, okay, on third count, she has only _four_ fat rolls on each arm and three fat rolls on each leg but he loves every single one of them, especially that fold on her wrists between her hands and forearms that he must kiss all the time. He sniffs at her hair and breathes in her flagrant, ambrosial scent that's like honey and petrichor and sunflower and apple pie straight out of the oven. She starts to let out those tinkling bell-like belly laughs when he playfully grabs her chubby hands and feet and nibbles on them with his lips over his teeth. He laughs too and nibbles on her arms, on the sensitive tips of her pointed ears while she squirms and flails her limbs with exuberance, projecting those waves of warmth, of _happiness_ at him through their sprouting telepathic bond.

He knows that as she grows up, the chances are very high that she will choose the Vulcan way of living. Her composed, reticent behavior around anyone else who isn't him, Spock and their immediate Vulcan family and closest friends and her swiftly developing telepathic abilities hint very much at that.

Spock had mentioned that if she is anything like him when he was a child, she will need daily, in-person training with Vulcan teachers in the near future, right after the Enterprise's five-year-mission ends in four years' time. That means they'll very likely settle on New Vulcan, until their baby is old enough to consider and choose where she wants to live and what she wants to do with her life. Jim doesn't mind that at all, especially if it's in his daughter's best interests. If Spock's mom could bond with and marry a Vulcan and settle down on Vulcan-that-was as the only Human resident of the planet, as the parent of a Human-Vulcan child, so can he.

And anyway, the Vulcans _love_ him, after finding out he can speak and read fluent Vulcan, is well-versed in their culture and traditions and honest-to-god enjoys their cuisine. (He's even nuttier than Spock is over plomeek soup these days.) That and you know, that little thing where he's Spock's _t'hai'la_ , a bond that even Surak revered and waxed poetic about in his writings.

So for now, while he still can, Jim will bring forth as many of their baby's darling smiles and as much of her musical laughter, so he can remember every crystal-clear second in real time and in memory when she won't smile or laugh anymore. (But she will, she will.)

"You were so tiny after you came outta me," Jim murmurs to her, grasping her right hand between his thumb and other fingers. "You felt freaking _gigantic_ while I was pushing you outta me. I thought I was gonna split in two or something, and I was so scared that we were gonna be crushed by another earthquake."

He lifts her up to his face so he can kiss her forehead and then blow a raspberry on it. She giggles and waves her arms, scratching at his shaved, smooth face with those tiny, curious fingers.

"But we're just fine, aren't we? Just like I told you."

She burbles something unintelligible and sticks out her cute, little tongue. He smiles at her. He kisses her on her plump, green-tinged cheek, then again, smiling wider when she squeals.

"I love you," he whispers to her, holding her even closer to his chest with both arms. "I will never leave you."

She stares up at him with those large, vivid-blue eyes so much like his own (that Spock adores and compares all the time to bright meteors or stars or whatever). She twitches her pointed ears so much like Spock's (that Jim _adores_ and plays with all the time). She smiles up at him once more as he stands up from the rocking chair and slow-dances around the carpeted, cozy room, singing a classic 20th century Earth pop song to her in Vulcan.

" _Tu yel-min t'nash-veh, t'nash-veh goh yel-min / Tor du nash-veh kunli lu igen zhai-kur_ ," he croons as he gazes down at her, as she gazes back at him with parted lips and enthralled eyes. " _Ri dungi fai-tor du uf mau ashau n'du / Sanu - ri nem-tor n'yel-min t'nash-veh_."

He languidly spins around the room and notices, out of the corner of his eye, Spock standing at the open door of their baby's bedroom, observing them with a Vulcan-blank face and hands behind his back.

Without looking away from their baby's face, Jim continues to slow-dance and sings the same song in Standard English, " _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine / You make me happy when skies are gray / You never know, dear, how much I love you / Please don't take my sunshine away_."

He halts in front of Spock who has yet to move from the door. He lifts their baby girl into a vertical position against his chest and shoulder so she can see and greet her sa-mekh. When she sees her Vulcan father, her green-tinged, chubby cheeks bunch up in a thrilled, toothless smile. Jim smiles too, grasping one of her arms and waving it at Spock on her behalf.

"'Hi, Sa-mekh!'" Jim says with a shrill voice. "'I missed you! Did ya miss me too?'"

Spock's face is expressionless but those eyes, those big, brilliant, beautiful deep brown eyes framed by long, lush lashes, are anything but.

"See those creases at the corners of his eyes, sugar-bug? That's how you know Sa-mekh is smiling although his lips are _totally_ straight and stern and _scary_."

Spock's eyes crinkle even more as he says, "Vulcans do not smile."

Straight-faced, Jim glances at their daughter who glances back at him at the same time. He nods sagely at her when she burbles something incomprehensible.

"Yes, baby, you're right. Sa-mekh really sucks at lying, I know."

Spock's lips are totally straight and stern and scary, even as he steps closer to them and kisses Jim first on his smiling lips, then their lively baby on the forehead. Spock's lips are totally straight and stern and scary, but like an exceptionally bright and explosive and golden meteor, the twinkle in Spock's eyes kindles into something gratified, something grateful, something eternal.

 

<<< >>>

 

Once upon a time, Jim was a guy who honestly thought that a certain Vulcan in his life didn't and could never love him. Jim was also a guy who was a pregnant Omega, who'd decided to keep the baby despite the fact that he'll lose his job, his ship, his Vulcan by doing that. Jim was _also_ a guy who had an excellent, ethical Beta doctor for a best friend, and so Jim was given the epic lowdown on what to expect as a pregnant Omega man who'll be giving birth to what looks to be a _big_ quarter-Vulcan baby.

"You need to understand this, Jim," Bones said to him, after sitting him down on the plush couch in his sickbay office. "Your body is going to _change_ , and I don't just mean you're going to look fat. Your hormones are going to go out of whack. You're going to find it harder to breathe as the baby gets bigger. You're going to get heartburn and increased reflux. You're going to get leg cramps. Your chest is going to feel tender. You're going to piss all the time and you're going to ache everywhere and your _spine_ will realign itself to help you maintain your balance. Don't even get me started on the stretchmarks, hyperpigmentation and spider veins."

"All of that? That's what pregnant _women_ of all genders deal with, too. But _Omega men_?" Bones said to him, sitting next to him on the couch. "Hoo boy, you've got even _more_ crap to deal with. And by crap, I mean that you're going to shed body hair. You won't be growing a beard anymore until you've given birth, and maybe even for a month or two after that. Your balls are going to shrink and retract into your body in the third trimester and your dick's going to shrink too to half its size or more and – Jim. Jim, stop screaming like that. Jim, you – _Jim_ , they will come back down and _grow back_ after the birth, I promise. Jim, I haven't even gotten to the part about you developing labial folds around the entrance to your birth canal – oh, for – if you don't stop that screaming, I'll _give_ you something to scream about, you brat!"

Afterwards, when he stopped freaking out like the big brat Bones called him out to be, Bones said to him with one arm around his shoulders while they sat on the couch again, "Did I mention Omega men are at high risk of experiencing precipitate delivery? That means you may end up with one hell of a rapid labor – say, less than two hours – which culminates in your body expulsing your baby like a circus clown out of a cannon. Jim. _Jim_. No more screaming, remember?"

Sorry, Bones, but right now, with his blood-and-amniotic fluid-spattered thighs spread wide on a battered leather couch, overpowered by the _excruciating_ contractions that are forcing him to push, push, _push_ , screaming is about all Jim _can_ do.

" _Aaaaahhhh_ , fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_ fuckity fuck shit fucking _FUUUCCK_!"

His water broke just 1.6 hours ago, according to Spock. Just 1.6 hours ago, he could still move and think and _breathe_. He could still find the words to persuade Spock to leave him behind, to go, get to safety, _go_. But Spock refused to leave him. Spock stayed, and now he isn't alone while he winces and thrashes on the couch and _screams_ from the agony that he's never felt before in his life.

Somehow, he still manages to feel Spock's hand against his tear-and-sweat-streaked cheek. He feels Spock's hands between his now bare, bent, shaking legs, padding what must be his bundled-up, soiled sweatpants and underwear against his buttocks, against that area that _fucking hurts so bad_.

{Kal'uh tu nash-veh vas-tor ak'shem t'du, sanu,} Spock pleads with him once more, gazing at him with wide, beseeching eyes, skin still so ashen and smeared with green blood. _Let me ease your body, please_.

Somehow, Jim finds the energy to shake his head in an unambiguous no, wincing until his eyes are scrunched shut.

{No – no, you're hurt – you can't be in my head when -}

Jim goes limp on the couch and wheezes when he gets momentary respite between contractions that are pummeling him faster and faster. His hips feel like they're being _broken_ apart by invisible, giant hands. His somewhat smaller belly is rock hard now that it has emptied itself of all its amniotic fluid. His whole abdomen feels like pure _pain_ embodied in his flesh, driving all rational thought from his mind with each _clench_ of his uterine muscles.

"You n-need to be _here_ , Spock ... Not – not in m-my head. More … earthquakes -"

He can scarcely speak above a loud whisper. He feels Spock's hand against his cheek again, wiping away another searing tear. There will be many more before they get through this.

Just eight minutes later, Jim is sitting up with the couch's backrest propping him up, hunched over his rotund belly as he pushes as hard as he can with his straining body, his toes curled in and his fingers knuckle-white and digging into the cushions. He has one bare foot on Spock's right shoulder while Spock grips the back of his left thigh and pushes it back against his belly as counter-pressure. Spock is also gripping his inner right thigh and keeping his right leg spread to the side. It helps him, just like screaming his head off seems to be helping him survive each contraction.

Oh god, oh fucking hell, he'd read about the _ring of fire_ during his own research into childbirth. So many women who gave birth had described the baby's head stretching the vagina as that. A ring of _acid_ , even, the most corrosive, agonizing burning sensation imaginable. And Omega men who gave birth naturally, like Jim is right now? Some of them said they would have preferred having a blunt knife slashing them open from sternum to groin compared to the sensation of their baby bulldozing out their bodies through narrow hips and a miniscule hole, and god _help_ you if you have a precipitate delivery that doesn't let you get accustomed to the stretch.

{Jim, her head is crowning.}

Oh god, oh fucking hell, oh fuck fuckity fuck _fuck_ , his hole isn't a ring of fire or acid, it's a ring of _broiling lava_ , burning worse and worse and _worse_ as he pushes and screams and feels his baby's head _stretch_ him wide open. He feels like he's being split open in two from the inside out. He feels like his hips are going to _splinter_ inside him from the pressure of their baby's body squeezing through the pelvic girdle.

"Don't you think I can _feel it_?!" he shrieks, blinded by more stinging tears. He doesn't mean to scream at Spock, to be an ingrate when Spock being here means he isn't suffering alone and Spock will make everything all right like he always does.

Spock doesn't get angry at him, not at all. Their shared mindspace has become glaring white and featureless from the agony, but Spock still manages to assuage a bit of his pain by swathing him in that warm blanket of love and empathy.

He pants after yet another contraction, blinking the wetness away from his eyes as Spock says, {I am not angry with you, Jim. You are in immense pain giving birth to our child. I am encouraging you. Another strong push and her head will be out. She will be with us soon.}

His thighs in Spock's solid grip quake from the exertion and agony. He pants and slouches back on the couch and stares blindly up at the ruined ceiling. Sweat rolls down his forehead and face. He claws at the leather surface of the couch as another contraction rolls over him. He's captive to his laboring body as he hunches forward and squeezes his eyes shut and _pushes_ again, screaming as the burning becomes impossibly worse, as their baby's head passes through and out of him.

Then relief, oh sweet relief. He collapses once more against the couch, gulping in breaths that never seem enough. He tries to close his thighs in reaction to the _burning_ between his legs but Spock's hands are strong upon his thighs. He swallows hard. Sucks in a shaky breath that ends with a whimper. Blinks his eyes clear and he glances at Spock and oh, Spock is staring at him and Spock's eyes are glistening damply.

"Hey," Jim rasps when he can, clutching at Spock's right hand still gripping his thigh with a quavering one of his own. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

Jim actually manages to huff out a laugh when Spock raises a skeptical eyebrow. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, they're going to be okay and get through this – all _three_ of them -in one piece. He doesn't believe in no-win situations, and he isn't about to now, no way, no how.

He tries to smile at Spock. He succeeds in a genuine if wavering one when Spock glances down between his spread thighs, at their baby's head and Spock murmurs with unmistakable awe, "She has my ears."

"No shit," Jim croaks, tightening his hand over Spock's. "She's your kid -"

Suddenly, another earthquake. It's much weaker than the initial one. Still, the earth beneath them tremors testily in tectonic agitation that sends more dust and hunks of debris showering upon them. Spock is rearing over Jim in a microsecond, arched over him with those sinewy, protective arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, shielding him and taking the brunt of anything falling on them. He screams in fright this time against Spock's chest, grappling at Spock above him with one hand, yanking his legs close to his enervated, still laboring body and thrusting his other hand between his legs to shield their baby's exposed head.

Time itself seems to stop when Jim touches their baby's head for the first time, nestled by his bundled-up, soiled sweatpants. He gasps aloud as his fingers feel the curve of her fragile, round head, the tip of her pointed Vulcan ears. Yeah, he and Spock have already seen their baby as a three-dimensional, holographic projection, but to _touch_ her, to _feel_ her is a million times more astounding.

She's almost here. Their baby is almost here.

And once she's out of him, Spock has to take her away to safety before _another_ earthquake strikes.

After the tremors have abated, after the showers of dust have ended, Jim drags Spock back down between his legs so he can look Spock in the eye as he says what he must to his bondmate.

"Spock, listen to me." He seizes Spock's head with both hands even as another contraction begins to crest, to rob him of his breath and voice. "Listen to me! _Listen to me_!" Jim gulps in a tremulous breath and bites back a whimper, then says in a panicked rush, "Once she's born, you gotta get out of here with her. I can't go with you. You can't carry both of us safely. You _know_ it. You need to take her away from here, before the building collapses on us! _Leave me and get her and yourself somewhere safe_!"

Jim hates himself even as he demands this. He'd promised his sweet, little girl that he would never leave her. He'd promised her. He'd _promised_ -

He hunches forward another time, pressing his face to Spock's shoulder and wailing into it as he pushes through the contraction. _God_ , it hurts even more now, and he knows it's because her shoulders are the widest part of her, the part that's still stuck inside him.

Wheezing as he is into Spock's shoulder, he still hears Spock say, " _Rai_. Nam-tor ish rinar-yehat." _No. That is unacceptable_.

His tear-and-sweat-streaked face crumples against the muddied cotton of Spock's t-shirt. He sucks in a shallow breath that turns into a sob, and then he shoves Spock back with both hands, enough that he can see Spock's familiar, handsome, _stubborn_ face, that Spock can see his crumpled, anguished one.

"Eit'jaen n'du!" he yells hoarsely, smacking a fist on Spock's shoulder and chest. _I'm begging you_! "You have to leave me behind! Don't you get it?! _I don't want you and our baby to DIE_!"

Spock stares at him. Spock stares and stares at him with wide, intense eyes. Spock says nothing with his mouth. Spock says everything by tenderly grasping the sides of his head with both hands and touching their foreheads together.

"Jim," Spock murmurs, as if Jim means something, _anything_ to him, as if Jim means the universe to him, any and _all_ universes (and he does, he does). "You have never left me behind. And I, even simply as your commander and you as my captain, have never left you behind. Do you think that I will do it now, now that you are also my t'hai'la, my _everything_?"

And Spock murmurs, "Kuv tev-tor du - nam-tor nash-veh sa'awek." _If you die, I am alone_.

And Spock murmurs, "We leave together, or not at all. Ken-tor du ha?" _Do you understand_?

And Spock whispers, "Abi'maut-shaht, ashayam." _Until the very end, my beloved_.

Jim's face crumples and goes hot with fresh rivulets of tears, but he presses his forehead to Spock's and he clings onto Spock's t-shirt and doesn't let go. He holds on as yet another contraction steamrolls through his exhausted body, an almighty one that whips his head back as he screams and pushes and pushes to no avail.

"S-Spock, I think – I think she's st-stuck," he whispers disjointedly between gulped breaths when the contraction releases him. "Help h-her."

Spock has placed his left foot back on a broad, stable shoulder. Spock is gripping his left thigh again. He feels Spock's left hand between his legs, feels Spock's long fingers cautiously examine his stretched, inflamed flesh.

"She is not stuck, Jim. Push with the next contraction. Kup-tor du nash!" _You can do this_!

It is Jim's desperation for Spock and their baby to get to safety that compels him to sit up and hunch forward and push, push, _push_ again and holy fuck, fuck fuck fuck fucking _fuck_ , it _hurts_ like nothing before, being stretched open even _more_ as her shoulders are compressed and propelled out. His voice finally breaks on his scream of agony as one of her elbows pops out of him and he's – he's now seeing clusters of black sprinkling his blurring vision, he's starting to feel really _cold_ and he can't sit up anymore, he _can't_ , he has to lie down, he has to rest, just a bit, just -

{Jim! _JIM_!}

His eyelids flutter as he feels Spock's hand press against the left side of his face. He feels so tired. So cold. So _tired_. More and more of those clusters of black are scattering across his vision, obscuring Spock's haggard, green blood-smeared face. Everything's going from glaring white to soothing black to his eyes and in his mind. He feels Spock slide into it as easily as he always has. He feels Spock all around him, swaddling him in golden, loving warmth and then he feels … no pain. He feels no pain whatsoever anymore.

The light and the darkness in his mind coalesce into the familiar incarnation of the vast, boundless forest of their shared mindspace. But instead of tranquil, sunny noon, Jim is confronted by the colossal, gray wall of what appears to be a storm to end all storms, so high it scrapes the sky, so wide that he can't see where it tapers off.

At first, Jim doesn't comprehend what he's seeing. The colossal, gray wall of howling winds and lightning seems to be _rooted_ in place, as if it's been halted in its tracks by some invisible, invincible power. It seems to be _diminishing_ , getting sucked into the very ground by the green-leafed, purple-trunked forest that it's ripping apart, getting _absorbed_ and -

It's _Spock_ who's stopped his pain. Spock is taking in all his pain, all at once. Spock is suffering in his place, Spock is -

Jim gasps and snaps his sore, damp eyes wide open. His vision has cleared completely. He doesn't feel cold anymore. He's pain-free for the first time in hours. He can _breathe_ again. He's sprawled on the couch once more with Spock between his spread, limp legs. Spock's hand is still pressed to the left side of his face. Spock has gone even paler, his eyes wide and unseeing, the muscles in his lower jaw visibly twitching. Jim reaches out for his bondmate with quivering arms, coiling his fingers around Spock's trembling right forearm, coiling his fingers into Spock's t-shirt.

{Spock, k'diwa, you're hurt, please don't do this to yourself, you need your energy -}

Spock's eyes abruptly focus on his face. Spock is clearly in immense pain, if only in his mind, but Spock doesn't open his mouth or make a single noise.

{Do not worry about me, Jim. Now _push_! One more push and our daughter will be here!}

Jim stares into Spock's wide eyes with his own as he does so, feeling the dreadful pressure of their baby's other shoulder squeezing its way out along with her arm but no pain, no pain whatsoever. He gasps again. Groans low when Spock reaches down between his spread thighs to tug their baby out the rest of the way with those exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands around her torso.

Their mindmeld severs when Spock lifts their baby up and cradles her in his hands, with her still joined to Jim by the umbilical cord. The pain surges back into Jim's wearied, wheezing body, but it's nothing compared to what it was before. It's nothing compared to their sweet, little girl finally born and here with them.

Their sweet, little girl … who isn't crying or moving at all.

Jim tries to shove himself upright on wobbly arms. He falls back and tries again, wheezing for a very different reason as Spock also gazes at their motionless, silent baby with widening eyes.

"Spock, Spock, why isn't she crying, _why isn't_ -"

Jim's eyes brim with tears of alarm as Spock brings their baby's face to his own and encloses her tiny nose and mouth with his own mouth. He struggles upright on the couch and frantically touches their baby over and over with one hand as Spock sucks and spits out whatever is stopping her from breathing. She isn't moving, she isn't making any noise, she isn't moving at all, _she isn't moving_ -

Jim doesn't realize that he's crying his eyes out until their baby suddenly coughs and kicks her legs and then scrunches her face up and _bawls_ with outrage. Jim doesn't realize that he's crying his eyes out and _laughing_ at the same time until he hears the mirthful sounds reverberating around them, wiping away the echoes of his screams of agony mere minutes before. He laughs and cries and laughs with absolute joy even as their baby girl wails and flails her limbs against Spock's chest as if she's already rearing for a good fight and determined to win it. (And she will, Jim knows she will.)

Jim cries and laughs, then gets choked up by a gargantuan lump in his throat when Spock lifts those deep brown eyes from their baby to his face, when Spock's deep brown eyes crinkle and Spock's green-flushed cheeks bunch and Spock's straight, white teeth are bared in an unambiguous, unmistakable display of emotion.

Spock is smiling. Spock, his Spock, his gorgeous Vulcan who always asserts that Vulcans do not smile, is _smiling_.

Jim has never seen Spock smile like that before, that smile brighter than any sun in the universe, and he knows that no one else ever has, that no else ever will. Jim has been bestowed with not one but two gifts, today. Gifts that he alone has been honored to be given.

Their baby being held by a smiling Spock is the most beatific sight Jim has beheld in his whole life, and oh, he's sure the universe can _never_ top it, no matter what anyone else says.

"Give her to me," Jim says with a gravelly voice when he's able, stretching out open arms and hands for her, smiling back at his equally euphoric bondmate.

Spock, with that sun-bright smile waning into that familiar, crinkled-eyed expression, gingerly passes over their baby into his embrace. She stops bawling the instant Jim's hands touch her warm, smooth skin. Jim quickly slumps back against the couch so that he can lay her on his chest and clasp her to his body with both arms that are starting to tremble again from exhaustion. Spock strips off his t-shirt and turns it inside out before sitting beside Jim on the couch, helping Jim to swathe her in it and still cuddle her.

"It's okay, sugar-bug. Everything's going to be okay," Jim rasps to her even as fresh tears roll down from his crinkled eyes, as he sniffles and smiles at her and strokes her chubby, green-tinged cheek with the back of his fingers. "Look at you. Look at you, my ko-fu, my baby girl. My perfect kan-bu."

He keeps looking at their sweet, little, calm and quiet baby as Spock encloses an arm around his shoulders and the other under their baby to support her too. He keeps looking at her as Spock touches their heads together at the temples.

"Look at what we made, Spock," Jim whispers, looking at their baby as she opens large, vivid-blue eyes, as he laughs again, heedless of the wet trails on his cheeks.

Spock looks at their baby girl, stroking her already thick, space-black curls and her pointed Vulcan ears. But Spock is looking at him too, with crinkled, unblinking, enraptured eyes, as if he's a marvel, an impossibility become possible, a miracle become reality. A dream, a marvelous and impossible and miraculous dream come true.

 

<<< >>>

 

Seventeen minutes after Jim gives birth, Bones and a rescue team find them in the wreckage of what was once their rented, sunshine-filled apartment.

"We heard him screaming his damn fool-head off a mile away," Bones says to Spock in the background while Jim keeps looking at his slumbering baby girl in his arms. "I know Jim has one _hell_ of a pain threshold, so for Jim to be screaming like that? I figured either something _really_ awful happened to you, or he was giving birth and it was just his luck for it to be a precipitate delivery. During an _earthquake_ , no less!"

"I arrived this morning, actually," Bones also says to Spock in the background, while Jim keeps cuddling his slumbering baby girl and looking at her, looking at her. "I was going to surprise you both, but here's San Francisco and _Jim_ surprising me instead." Bones snorts. "Like I should have expected anything else."

"Jim does have the habit of surprising people."

"Master of the understatement, you are."

Jim dips his head to kiss his baby girl on the forehead again. She's so beautiful, so perfect. She has Spock's lush, space-black hair and eyelashes but his curls. She has Spock's Vulcan ears but she has his blue eyes. Her eyebrows are high and angular but they're also thicker, more like his. She has a cute round nose and cute pouting lips and even her chin is cute. Her frail eyelids flutter when he taps her chin with a forefinger.

"Jim? Jim?"

He feels someone rest a hand on his bare knee but he keeps looking at his beautiful, perfect, slumbering baby girl. He dips his head once more to press his nose to her fine-spun hair, to breathe in her flagrant, ambrosial scent that's like honey and petrichor and sunflower and apple pie straight out of the oven.

"Jim?"

He feels the hand gently shake his knee. He keeps looking at his beautiful, perfect, slumbering baby girl. He smiles down at her and traces her supple, bowed lips. She really does look like she's smiling in her sleep. She's so adorable. He loves her so much that he can't measure it.

"Yeah. Our Jim is officially in Omega Daddy Bonding Hormone Lala-Land."

"Leonard, I do not think there is such a place as Omega Daddy Bonding Hormone Lala-"

"Spock? Figurative speech. Look it up."

Jim strokes his baby girl's chunky, green-tinged cheek with his fingers again. He feels a sudden spasm in his much flatter belly and he frowns even as he continues to gaze down at his baby. He feels familiar, long fingers press against his left temple, and the twinge inside his belly disappears. His expression relaxes once more.

"Hey, stop that Vulcan hoodoo. You're not doing so good yourself."

"I am fine. You have already treated my head and back wounds with a dermal regenerator."

"The placenta's coming out. Spock, help me hold his thigh here. Yeah. Like that. Is he in pain?"

"No. I am shielding him from any discomfort."

"Okay. Good. It's all there."

A while later, Jim feels a hand on his knee again. The hand shakes gently it, and when it doesn't stop, Jim finally glances up from his sleeping baby girl's face at the person shaking his knee. Oh, it's Bones. Bones! Bones is here. Bones is here too. That's wonderful. That's awesome! Bones. Bones gets to meet his beautiful, perfect, sweet, little baby too.

"Jim? Are you back with us now? Are you in any pain?"

Bones and Spock – Spock! Spock, his beloved Vulcan and mate, his equally beautiful, perfect, sweet mate – are kneeling in front of him, Spock on the left and Bones on the right. They're both gazing at him with crinkled eyes, although Spock's face is Vulcan-blank while Bones' whole face is creased from an affectionate, tight-lipped smile.

He gazes back at them with a huge grin. (And oh man, when he browses through Spock's memories later, he sees himself through Spock's eyes for the utter _wreck_ that he is after a _torturous_ precipitate delivery of a 9.4-pound baby, his eyes bloodshot, his unruly hair coated with dust, his grimy face striated with drying trails of tears. But Spock will also say to him, "You were smiling and the stars shone out of your eyes with all the love in you for our child. You were beautiful.")

"Pain? What pain?" Jim replies, grinning like a dreamy dolt. "I feel absolutely _awesome_!" Jim gazes down at his baby girl once more, still grinning. "Look at her, Bones. She's here! Isn't that awesome? She's so awesome. She's beautiful and perfect and I love her so much."

Bones' lips tremor with mirth. Bones continues to gaze at Jim as he says to Spock, "And _that_ , my green-blooded friend, is why the Human race still exists."

"I see," Spock says as deadpan, also gazing on at Jim, caressing Jim's bare leg in quiet admiration.

Jim falls into a recuperating slumber himself as he and his baby are transported out of the ruins to a private room in the nearest hospital. He recalls bits and pieces of the journey, like Spock's hand brushing his hair from his face, like Bones pulling blankets up to his shoulders and tucking them around his baby snuggled to his chest. Like Spock hugging him tight on the hospital bed and shushing his distraught cries, reassuring him with murmured Vulcan words into his ear when their baby girl is taken away from him.

"Our child is safe, Jim, I promise. Leonard is examining her across the room. There. See? He is weighing her now. She is safe here." Spock strokes his dusty hair as he lets out a tiny, anxious noise between sucked in lips, unable to rein it in. "Now, we both need sonic showers. I will help you. She is safe and well, ashayam. I promise."

Jim can barely stand upright without Spock supporting him in the sonic shower in the en suite bathroom. Spock has to help him dress in a white, short-sleeved hospital gown and of all the kind of things he has to wear, a high-waist underwear that's thickly padded to deal with the light bleeding in the birth's aftermath. (He'll end up wearing padded underwear like this for weeks more, to his disgruntlement.) If his brain isn't suffused like it is with potent Omega hormones compelling him to return to his baby and curl up around her and protect her from the world, he would have cracked a joke about Spock flashing his ass in an identical hospital gown. Instead, he's speechless and strung out, floundering on rickety legs with Spock's arm around his waist all the way back to the bed.

Bones is standing next to the bed with his cleaned baby girl bundled up in a beige swaddle blanket. Jim breaks out of Spock's embrace and lurches to Bones who hands her over immediately. He clutches her to his chest with both arms. He presses his face to hers and kisses her cheek. He doesn't look away from her as he's maneuvered onto the bed by two pairs of arms, onto his side with his baby girl tucked into the half-moon refuge of his body and bent arms. He kisses the crown of her fragile, round head. He shuts his eyes and hugs her closer to him.

"Yeah, some Omegas can become extremely territorial and protective of their newborn baby, especially just after the birth," Bones says to Spock in the background, near the bed. "It just figures he would be on the extreme end of the spectrum, trauma from an earthquake or not. Never average, our Jim."

Then, Jim feels a large hand ruffling his now clean, soft hair.

"I'm sorry, kid," Bones says to him gruffly. "I didn't mean to upset you so badly. I should have considered how hard your Omega instincts might kick in. She's fine. She's a big, healthy baby. Perfect ten on the good old Apgar score."

Jim doesn't say anything, but Bones doesn't seem to be expecting a reply either. Jim feels thick blankets being drawn up to his shoulders and tucked around him and his sleeping baby. The white light of the room dims to a comfy, intimate level.

"I mean it, Spock," Bones says in the background, far away, "Somebody up there really, _really_ loves him. Jim is the luckiest sonofagun alive in my books. A rough delivery like that? And he didn't hemorrhage. Didn't even _tear_ , which is a damn miracle in itself. His body's already starting to heal on its own."

Jim keeps his eyes shut and sniffs at his baby girl's head. She smells so nice, so sugary. She smells like honey fresh out of the hive, like the finest day of summer without a gray cloud in the sky. She smells like everything beautiful and real and necessary.

He doesn't open his eyes until he feels Spock carefully sliding under the blankets, lying that sun-hot body on its side to face him with their baby between them. Spock's hair is space-black and immaculate once more. The green blood staining Spock's familiar, handsome, unforgettable face is gone. Spock's face is green-flushed instead of pallid. Spock's eyes are at half-mast, gleaming with that light that rivals the sun's.

Spock is okay. They're all okay. All three of them.

Jim shifts his arms down and straightens his body so that Spock can snuggle closer to their baby. Spock places one hand on top of their baby's swaddled body, all its fingers folded in except for the index and middle ones. Without looking away from Spock's half-mast, crinkled eyes, Jim folds his fingers into the same arrangement and also places that hand on their baby's swaddled body, rubbing his index and middle fingers with Spock's in an ozh'esta.

"Nemaiyo, ashal-veh," Spock whispers. _Thank you, my darling_.

Jim knows Spock isn't saying that just for their beautiful, perfect, sweet, little baby who still slumbers serenely between them with her lips bowed.

"Malating, t'hai'la," he whispers back, smiling with his lips for them, all three of them. _You are welcome, my soulmate, my everything_.

 

<<< >>>

 

Jim and Spock bequeath a name to their beautiful, perfect, sweet, little baby girl two weeks after she's born.

"T'Aman," Jim says, feeling the name out in his mouth, then smiling softly at Spock. "I like it. Does it mean anything?"

They are lounging on their bed in their furnished apartment in the Vulcan Consulates on a mild Sunday afternoon. Jim is on his back with their baby lying on her belly on his chest. Spock lies on his left side with his head resting on Jim's right shoulder, with one hand on their baby's back. Their sweet, little girl is awake and gazing unblinkingly at Spock, her pouting lips parted, her chunky arms stretched out sideways across Jim's chest.

Jim gazes down at her with a tender smile as Spock replies, "I gained inspiration from the Vulcan word: taman."

"Taman," Jim murmurs. He glances up at the alabaster ceiling with a contemplative expression. "Okay, if I remember right, taman means … dancing."

"Yes, Jim. It means, to move rhythmically to music, using prescribed or improvised steps and gestures."

Jim turns his head to gaze at Spock, the soft smile returning to his features.

"Improvised dancing, huh?"

"I believe that is how Leonard would describe your style of dealing with crises during a mission." Spock pauses, then adds, "On a good day."

Jim snickers, and their baby rises and falls with his chest. She lets out a sound between a squeak and an inquiring whine. She curls and straightens her fingers while Spock rubs pacifying circles on her back.

"Our child's name is a tribute not only to my mother, Amanda, but to you as well, ashayam."

Jim gazes at Spock once more, his smile even softer as their noses and foreheads graze.

"That's really sweet, babe," Jim says, laying his hand on Spock's over their baby's back. "I like it. I really like it."

They gaze down at their daughter in unison. Jim gently pulls at her already luxurious, space-black curls, at her adorable pointed ears with his fingers, smiling at her.

"Hi, T'Aman," he murmurs to her, smiling wider when she smiles too and wriggles her legs. "Welcome to the universe, my little dancer."

Almost six months later, the Enterprise has been wholly repaired and upgraded and awaits her tried-and-true, incredible crew to return to her at Spacedock. By this time, T'Aman is even chubbier, jollier, prettier and smarter than she was at four months, and elicits coos and many a dragged-out _aww_ from everyone who encounters her. Even a _Klingon –_ one of the very, very few nice ones working for Starfleet, not the dickwads who attacked them months ago for a freaking _princess_ \- goes _aww_ at her while Jim and Spock wait along with Bones for the shuttle that will transport them to Spacedock.

In the shuttle, Jim sits at the window with T'Aman – in a gold-and-blue onesie - cuddled in his arms and facing said window so she can look out and see the Enterprise in her full glory for the first time. He remembers his own feelings of wonder and appreciation when he saw his ship for the first time, despite the crisis they were all dealing with then. He feels the same even now, his chest puffed up, his eyes gleaming with pride, his lips curved up in a small smile of joy.

T'Aman flails her chubby arms when the Enterprise finally comes into view, beautiful and magnificent and majestic as the day she sailed out among the stars for the very first time.

{Takov!} _Pretty_!

Jim grins and glances at T'Aman, at her vivid-blue eyes humongous with awe, at her mouth opening into an 'o' of pleasant surprise. At six months old, although she can't verbally articulate words yet, she can communicate with him and Spock telepathically, if only in one-word sentences for now. She sounds as endearing in his mind (and Spock's) as she does when she burbles charming gibberish.

"Yeah, she's pretty, isn't she?" Jim says, then plants a long, noisy kiss on his daughter's right temple. "But not as pretty as you, sugar-bug."

Spock, sitting next to Jim, enfolds an arm around T'Aman from behind. Jim leans back against his bondmate and is enfolded by a sinewy, dependable, protective arm too.

Not a minute afterward, to Jim's and Spock's amusement, T'Aman has lost interest in the Enterprise and is staring at them with the same humongous eyes, patting Jim's face and lips with her chunky hands.

{K'avon! Yem-tukh!} _Hungry! Food_!

Jim throws his head back and chortles with shut eyes while T'Aman babbles something unintelligible at him then at Spock. Spock hushes her with a single, softly spoken Vulcan word. Jim can't explain it himself but he finds it _hilarious_ that his baby girl can demand for food so clearly through their familial telepathic bond and yet only say nonsensical, cute stuff otherwise.

"'Hungry! Food! Hungry! Food!'" Jim teases her with a high-pitched voice, smiling at her. "Is that all you can say to Daddy, hm?"

"If I wasn't sure before, I'm sure now," Bones drawls from the seat across the aisle. "She's Daddy's kid, all right."

"Spock, punch him for me," Jim says, after he hugs T'Aman tightly to his chest and kisses her chunky, green-tinged cheek. Both Spock and Bones know he's only jesting: he and Bones had made up just days after their row in the Vulcan Consulates over Pike, with a long hug and a promise to not keep secrets like that from each other anymore.

Spock does no such thing. (Which means five minutes off their snuggle time tonight.)

That evening, after everyone has boarded and settled back into their quarters and T'Aman has been fed twice, Jim and Spock arrange a small, private 'Meet T'Aman' gathering at the observation deck. T'Aman is infatuated with the verdant, multi-layered garden of flourishing, iridescent flowers there, excitedly plucking at multicolored petals and snatching at long, smooth vines from the steel trellises. She is even more infatuated by the stars streaking past the observation deck's massive windows, pointing at them with one tiny, curious finger and letting out a chirpy sound.

Sulu, Scotty and Chekov are the first to arrive, greeting him and Spock with big, cheerful smiles (and an enthusiastic wave from Chekov). Scotty comes darting up to T'Aman in Jim's arms, making pinching motions with his fingers towards her cheeks and already making T'Aman smile broadly.

"Who's the prettiest wee lass in the universe?!" Scotty asks breathlessly with theatrically wide eyes, glancing about with an open mouth before looking at her again and pointing at her with both forefingers. " _You_ are!"

T'Aman giggles as Scotty pinches her cheeks and laughs with her. Jim grins and chuckles as well. He adores his baby girl's laughter. He chuckles even more when he hears T'Aman describe Scotty through their telepathic bond.

{Tzlu'pd!} _Funny_!

Chekov approaches next, whipping out from behind him what he calls a Cheburashka plush toy. It's a silly, fluffy, brown creature with gigantic, monkey-like ears the size of its head and round eyes.

"Cheburashka is classic cartoon character of Russia!" Chekov tells him and Spock earnestly with a smile. "He is an animal unknown to science who lives in a tropical forest. Until! One day, he climb into a crate of oranges and he ate too many and fell asleep. He gets deliwered to a grocery store in Moscow where he have many adwentures!"

Spock, standing all this while with his hands behind him next to Jim, raises an eyebrow and says, "A fascinating creature."

Jim smiles at his bondmate, then at Chekov and says, "Thank you, Pavel," letting T'Aman accept the gift for herself with both hands from Chekov. She grins at the toy, revealing the white edges of her bottom two front teeth poking from her gums. She shakes it and then hugs it, evoking coos from Chekov, Scotty, Sulu and also Jim.

{Tishau!} T'Aman says to Jim and Spock. {Kunli!} _Like! Happy_!

Sulu is a little more solemn than the other two men, but when he comes near, T'Aman gazes at him and her lips bow in a small, sweet smile. Sulu asks Jim for permission to hold her, and after Jim takes the plush toy from her, lets Sulu lift her into an easy, practiced embrace. It's evident that Sulu has carried a child this way many times in his life by now.

"I remember holding my daughter for the first time," Sulu says while gazing at T'Aman who gazes back at him with large, scrutinizing eyes. "I cried my eyes out until I couldn't see. Ben was the one who had to give birth to her, and even he didn't cry much." Sulu laughs quietly at himself. "He thought it was hilarious because I hardly ever cry about anything. Teased me for weeks about it."

Jim smiles empathetically, then says, "That was one hell of a way to come out, Hikaru."

They crack up into low laughter while Spock silently stands with them. Through their bond, however, Jim can feel Spock's concurrence with his comment.

"Yeah, well," Sulu replies, patting T'Aman on the back. "I admit, coming out about my Omega husband to the entire Federation through the news at an Omega Rights rally? It _wasn't_ something I'd planned. Before the news broke out about your Omega status, it was something I didn't think much about."

For a moment or two, Sulu goes silent, his expression turning somber.

"I never thought about what Omegas have to deal with in life until I met Ben. I admit that too. For me, as an Alpha, getting into Starfleet was a breeze. It never occurred to me that Omegas would have it any different from me in getting in and getting the role they want, you know? I thought, maybe Omegas just weren't cut out for the job, maybe that's why there aren't any Omegas on command track." Sulu shakes his head with a mirthless smile while T'Aman continues to gaze calmly at him. "Then Ben came along and, suddenly, I _saw_ the Omega discrimination happening everywhere. I saw the way people _looked_ at him just for being an Omega, like he was _less_ of a man for it, like he deserved to be shamed for his biology beyond his control. It pissed me off. It really did. Here's this amazing, outstanding guy who's helped to engineer and construct some of our biggest starbases, and yet, just because he's an Omega? There are people who gladly treat him like dirt, who brush his expertise, his _existence_ aside. Just like that."

Sulu glances at T'Aman with a small albeit more chipper smile. Then he gazes at Jim and says, "When I heard that Starfleet was intending to put you on trial, to _fry_ you just for hiding your Omega status when you've already done _so_ much for us all, I guess I had _enough_. I didn't want to lay low anymore. I didn't want to be a passive guy just standing on the sidelines anymore. I wanted to _do_ something. So I said to Ben, 'Let's go to the rally. Let's show our faces and support. Let's make a difference, no matter how small.' And we did. And then that reporter found me and ..." Sulu grins at Jim and Spock. "The rest is history."

Jim and Sulu laugh together again. T'Aman babbles at Sulu, who says to her, "You're right. I should have done something way earlier. I wish I did."

{Rom,} T'Aman says quietly, touching Sulu's cheek with one hand. {Tishau.} _Good. Like_.

Jim smiles at his baby girl, his sweet and thoughtful and gentle baby girl. Spock waits until Sulu is looking at him and Jim again before saying, "Regardless of the timing, your public support for Jim and Omega rights is appreciated."

Sulu gives them a tight-lipped but relieved smile.

"Thank you, Commander, Captain. I'm honored to serve you both, and I can't wait to see where the next four years of exploration take us."

That's when Bones and Uhura show up, completing the list of attendees. Sulu passes T'Aman back to Jim while Bones and Uhura approach. Bones, having already met T'Aman numerous times, still greets her with a softened face and twinkling hazel-green eyes, clapping his hands twice and then spreading his arms towards her in a wordless request for a cuddle.

{Fainusu!} T'Aman squeals. _Friend_!

The observation deck fills with a round of cooing and dragged-out _aww_ s when T'Aman smiles at Bones and extends both chunky arms at him. Bones' whole face softens even more as he lifts her into his arms and braces her against his chest and shoulder, and Jim knows that Bones is thinking about his own daughter back in Georgia, that Bones already misses her terribly.

"Giant marshmallow," Jim stages whispers, causing the others (except Spock, of course) to laugh while Bones gazes at T'Aman with a deceptively placid expression.

"Your annual physical is next week, Captain," Bones replies nonchalantly, promising many painful hypos, causing everyone else (again, except Spock) to laugh a second time.

After a snug hug that makes T'Aman giggle against Bones' face, Bones passes her back to Jim and goes to chat with Sulu, Scotty and Chekov. To Jim's surprise, Spock also goes with Bones, leaving him and T'Aman alone with Uhura.

{Spock?} Jim says tacitly, watching Spock saunter away with the Cheburashka plush toy in one hand.

{All is well, ashayam,} Spock replies, glancing back at him with that Vulcan-blank face and crinkled, warm eyes. {She wishes to speak privately with you.}

Jim almost asks how Spock knows that, but one look at Uhura's face tells him that Spock is right. Uhura's expression is a contradictory amalgam of a gracious smile and plaintive eyes. He gives her a gracious smile of his own, hiking T'Aman higher up his chest. He doesn't have to imagine much how awkward it must be to be face to face with your ex-Vulcan boyfriend's new bondmate and baby, especially when said bondmate was somebody Uhura once called a 'mouth-breather' and refused to tell her first name and kicked out of her dorm room at the Academy.

"Uhura," Jim says.

"Nyota," she says in return, her eyes plaintive but also sincere. "My name is Nyota."

Whatever is showing on his face now, it must be comical because Uhura – no, _Nyota_ smiles widely at him and chuckles in amusement.

"Okay, _that_ was worth it," she says, still smiling, and it's the pickaxe that shatters whatever ice is left between them, bringing forth low chuckles out of both of them. Even T'Aman joins in, letting out a happy bleat that draws Nyota's eyes to her and softens Nyota's smile to something fond, something wistful.

"I knew that he was in love with you, even before he went after Khan."

Whatever humor Jim is feeling ebbs away into something aching in the left side of his chest. If there's something Spock and Nyota have in common, it's that they cut to the quick when it comes to matters of the heart.

"Nyota -"

"I saw the way he'd look at you. As if you were an enigma to him. An enigma he yearned to study, to decode. To _know_ ," she says, still gazing at T'Aman. "I knew that he was in love with you before _he_ knew it himself. I always had to be the one to initiate any physical intimacy. Even just a Vulcan kiss, a touch of fingers." The plaintiveness in her eyes is also in the curve of her lips. "I know he loved me, the whole time we were together. I know he respected me, which was probably why he still stayed with me for as long as he did after his pon'farr, why he was honest with me and tried his best to make it work anyway. But I also know he wasn't _in_ love with me."

Jim stays silent, not because he doesn't know what to say but because he knows this isn't easy for Nyota, because she deserves a considerate audience of her captain, her _friend_.

"I was so angry when I realized it was _you_ he'd fallen in love with." Jim grimaces at this, but Nyota gazes at him and also says, still coolly, "Though not for the reasons you think. I was so sure you were going to use him. To _hurt_ him and then leave him."

Jim still stays silent. He looks Nyota in the eye, because she deserves that. Because _he_ deserves that, to not hide from his past sins. Yeah, James Tiberius Kirk several years ago? He was a womanizing asshole. He was a manipulative asshole who took advantage of Gaila, Nyota's roommate and friend, for his own gain. He used to joke that his middle name was actually Tomcat instead, that all he was good for was fucking women and chucking them after he was done. He actually _said_ that to Gaila once, after they fucked on her bed, after he made her promise him she'd _fix_ the Kobayashi Maru simulation like they discussed.

She'd laughed. Told him he was a funny guy. Told him she _loved_ him.

And he didn't even _talk_ to her once she'd done the job.

And now she's dead, killed along with thousands of other Starfleet cadets by Nero. She's dead, and he'll never be able to tell her he's sorry, to make amends to her.

"You had a reputation back in the Academy, a _thing_ for _green aliens_ , you know."

Jim grimaces again, rubbing T'Aman's back while she stares soundlessly at Nyota with her large, vivid-blue eyes. Okay, he can't really deny that. Gaila's Orion skin _was_ another reason he'd chased after her. And well, his bondmate is Vulcan who has _green blood_ that shows up as a _green blush_ on his pale, smooth skin -

"And now here's Spock, a Vulcan, a _half-Human_ Vulcan, the only one of his kind in the _galaxy_ , who's in love with you. Why _wouldn't_ you jump at the chance to have sex with him, right? What's another green alien as a notch on your bedpost?"

Jim outright winces this time, but she's just telling the harsh truth about the guy he used to be. Yeah. Yeah, the guy he used to be _would_ have taken advantage of Spock if they'd just fucked before Nero came along, before they became Captain and Commander, before they became _friends_ who grew to _love_ each other and then _fall in love_ with each other. Before Jim died in that locked chamber full of radiation and their t'hai'la bond formed between them, eternally joining them, _marrying_ them and setting the course of their lives to this point in time where he's cuddling his Human-Vulcan baby daughter and listening to his bondmate's ex-girlfriend who has every right to be angry at him.

Nyota abruptly shuts her eyes, her brows furrowing.

"I'm sorry, that was -"

"No, I – I deserve that," Jim interjects calmly, quietly, sincerely, looking Nyota in the eye when she opens her eyes again. "I was an asshole. A selfish one. I used Gaila to cheat and I lead her on when I should never have treated her that way. It's true. I was wrong to do that. And I hate that I can never tell her how sorry I am now, that I can never make amends. But I guess maybe that's my punishment. That's what I have to live with for the rest of my life."

Jim turns his head away from Nyota to find T'Aman staring at him instead, with what seems to be a sad frown. Jim gives her a bittersweet smile and caresses her warm, chunky cheek with his fingers.

"Daddy wasn't always a nice guy," he says to his baby girl, who brushes his cheek with those tiny, curious, loving fingers.

{Thonauk?} _Sad_?

{Kwes,} Jim replies, stroking her bare arm, assuaged by her living warmth. _Regretful_.

{Ka,} T'Aman says, stroking his cheek in return. _Same_.

Jim smiles her again, a gladder smile, and kisses her tiny fingers. He then turns his head back to Nyota and sees her watching him and T'Aman with eyes that are benevolent, unguarded.

"You really have changed, Jim," she murmurs, the curve of her lips no longer plaintive.

"Pushing out a 9.4-pound baby in a precipitate delivery during one of San Francisco's worst earthquakes?" Jim makes a face. "Yeah. That'll change a man."

He and Nyota wince and hiss at the same time, then chuckle together. T'Aman's sad frown fades away into another happy bleat and a brief flail of arms.

Jim rubs his baby girl's back as Nyota says, "Spock's a good soul. And despite how we got to know each other, so are you." Nyota pauses meaningfully, then adds with a straight face, "Although you still breathe loudly through your mouth."

"I do _not_ breathe through my mouth."

"Yeah. You do."

They shoot mock, narrow-eyed glowers at each other. Then, they smile genuinely at each other while T'Aman stares at Nyota again.

"You know what I really know now? You can't help who you fall in love with. Maybe it truly is fated."

Jim is about to say to her that he agrees, but that's when Nyota turns her head to glance at Scotty who's listening attentively along with Bones, Chekov and Spock to Sulu telling them something that has Sulu gesturing zestfully with his hands. Jim glances past a calm, quiet T'Aman at Scotty too, who glances at him and Nyota after a second or two.

A grin slowly spreads across Jim's face as Scotty turns beet red under his and Nyota's eyes, as Scotty glances at Nyota with adoration only a blind man can't see before dipping his head with an enormous smile on his beet red face, scratching the side of his neck.

"Really? You and Scotty?" Jim asks, still grinning, already knowing the answer just from the identical adoration in Nyota's eyes as she gazes on at the Enterprise's chief engineer.

Nyota lets out a quiet sigh, then looks back at Jim with crinkled eyes.

"Yes," she murmurs, her whole face softened with fondness. "Believe me, I didn't expect it myself. I was in New York and although Spock and I had broken up months ago by then, I was still feeling a little sad about it. And I felt a little lonely too. Then the news broke about your Omega status, and I did that short interview and then Scotty called me from Edinburgh. He said he would be happy to keep me company and show me around his home city if I wanted that. And I thought, 'Why not?'" She shrugs, her eyes still crinkled, still twinkling. "So I flew to Edinburgh. Ended up staying at his house, met his lovely grandmother, explored the city and then other parts of Scotland with him and …" She shrugs again, her face glowing in a contented smile. "It just … happened."

Jim and Nyota laugh quietly together once more. Then he glances at Spock, at his bondmate, the Vulcan father of his beautiful, perfect, sweet, little baby girl. He gazes at Spock and feels that life-giving blanket of warmth enveloping him in their shared mindspace even as Spock continues to listen to Sulu speak (and hilariously still clutching the plush toy behind him). He gazes at Spock who, against all the odds in the universe, is his t'hai'la, whose katra is entwined with his for all time, untouchable even by death itself.

Yeah, he knows exactly what Nyota means.

When Scotty glances in their direction again, Jim grins broadly at him and gives him a celebratory thumbs-up. Scotty becomes even redder in the face and smiles even more broadly at Jim, looking at Nyota a second time before glancing away, bowing his head.

Nyota playfully punches Jim on the upper arm. She is also smiling broadly.

{Takov.}

Jim hikes T'Aman higher up his chest again. (She's getting heavier and heavier these days.) T'Aman is staring at Nyota yet again with fascinated, wide eyes, and when Nyota offers her a slender hand to grasp, T'Aman's lips bow up in a jubilant smile. T'Aman grips Nyota's forefinger and middle finger with her left hand.

"Yeah, Nyota is pretty, isn't she?" Jim says to T'Aman, gazing at T'Aman's chubby, green-flushed face and darling smile.

"She has your smile, Jim."

Jim sees T'Aman's darling smile, but he's also seeing another smile on another Vulcan, a smile brighter than any sun in the universe, a smile that had crinkled deep brown eyes and bunched up green-flushed cheeks and bared straight, white teeth upon a familiar, handsome, unforgettable face. He sees Spock's smile again, here on their daughter's face and he says nothing for Spock's smile is a gift that is his alone.

"I'm happy for you guys," Jim says instead, smiling at her. "I really am."

"And I am happy for you and Spock," Uhura says, smiling in return, and he knows that Uhura means it, that they're all right.

The Enterprise's first stop is at New Vulcan to hand over essential construction supplies, only for a day. There is so much work to do on board the ship itself that Jim and Spock, being the ship's captain and commander, are unable to leave it to set foot on the planet itself.

That doesn't stop Sarek and Selek from boarding the ship to spend time with T'Aman, three hours apart of each other.

Sarek meets Jim, Spock and T'Aman in the transporter room, in a rush from a meeting with the Vulcan High Council (or as much of a rush as a Vulcan can be in, anyway). Like Bones, Sarek has already seen T'Aman numerous times since her birth, helping Spock to care for her at the Vulcan Consulates when Jim needed almost two weeks to physically and mentally recover from the traumatic birth.

(It took months for his body to return to its muscular, nimble form with daily exercise and hearty helpings of Vulcan and Human meals that included plomeek, yarmok, balk'ra and pizza, pasta and potato. Bones had offered to remove the stretchmarks from his lower belly with a dermal regenerator, but he'd declined. They've become his badges of honor as an Omega man, visual proof upon his body that he'd been pregnant once, and anyway, Spock loves them like the rest of him so who is he to complain about them?)

{Sa-mekh-al!} T'Aman squeals while babbling random sounds at her Vulcan grandfather.

Sarek's entire face crinkles although his lips remain straight and stern. Sarek's deep brown eyes twinkle with undeniable fondness as he lifts T'Aman into his arms from Spock's and holds her close to his chest. T'Aman goes silent and gazes up at her grandfather with large, delighted eyes while she clings on to one of his large hands with her own small, chunky one. Jim can see how much they adore each other (and yes, he is so _relieved_ about that, having worried himself sick at one point that Sarek would perhaps reject T'Aman for being _too Human_ or something, genetically or otherwise, particularly after the decimation of the Vulcan people by Nero.)

"Your grandmother lives on in you, little sprout, and in your father," Sarek says while cuddling T'Aman close to him, still locking eyes with his vivid-blue-eyed granddaughter.

Spock stands next to Jim in his blue uniform with his hands against his lower back. Spock's face is expressionless. But in their shared mindspace, in their vast, verdant, boundless forest of green-leafed, purple-trunked trees bathed in sunlight, yet another tree erupts from red, sizzling sand and grows and grows into a lofty, hardy one like its countless brothers and sisters.

Selek's meeting with T'Aman takes place in one of the smaller conferences rooms near the transporter room. Unlike Bones and Sarek, Selek has only seen T'Aman via video calls to the Vulcan Consulates so far, and Jim is thrilled about the engaging, tender-hearted old Vulcan finally meeting T'Aman in person. He still remembers Selek's face when Selek spoke about his Jim and about the children they'll never have together (and no, that doesn't make his eyes _leak_ now either, _shut up_ ).

T'Aman _gapes_ at Selek when they settle down in the conference room with the privacy lock on. Selek being Spock from another reality is still a big secret that no one else knows about save for Jim, Spock and Sarek. Jim is thus both surprised and amused as heck at T'Aman's reaction to him, staring at Selek with humongous eyes and a yawning mouth as if she can't believe who she's looking at.

Jim has to bite his lower lip hard when T'Aman then gapes at Spock with the same expression. He hugs her closer to his chest and presses their cheeks together. He also looks at Spock who gazes back at them with crinkled, warm eyes. Spock's amusement is tangible as a breeze in their shared mindspace.

"What's wrong, sugar-bug?" Jim says, trying not to smile, stroking her luxurious, space-black curls as she gapes at Selek again, then back at Spock.

{Sa-mekh!} T'Aman says as she looks at Spock with a small smile. Then she glances at Selek once again, and the smile falters into a cute, baffled frown as she says, {Sa-mekh?}

Jim loses it when he glances at Selek and sees that Selek is actually playing _peek-a-boo_ with T'Aman using both hands to cover his face. He hugs T'Aman tightly again, then turns so that he and T'Aman are facing Spock.

"Yes, honey, that's Sa-mekh." Then he turns to face Selek and says, "And _that's_ , well, an older Sa-mekh from another reality!" When T'Aman gazes at him with those humongous, confused eyes, Jim has to bite his lower lip again to maintain his straight face. "I know how you feel. Daddy still gets very confused about it all, too."

"I believe T'Aman is only now recognizing my mind as being very similar to Spock's because she is now able to telepathically investigate me when she could not before," Selek says, his whole face creased from the amused smile that refuses to show itself on his straight, stern lips. "I can sense her mind reaching out to mine." Selek glances at Spock and says, "Do not worry. I have already shielded my mind. She is simply, as Jim would say, taking a walk on its surface."

Spock nods in acknowledgment. Jim smiles at Selek, at the amusing comment. Okay, yeah, that _is_ something he would say.

By now, T'Aman's expression has eased into one of wide-eyed inquisitiveness. She stares at Selek when Selek makes eye contact with her again. Then, gradually, her adorable, chubby face lights up in a charming smile. She extends both arms towards Selek, and Jim walks up to the old Vulcan to let him carry her.

Selek is visibly affected as he cuddles T'Aman in his arms. Jim sees it in the movement of Selek's throat as he swallows once, in the deliberate pressing of lips into a thinner line to avoid any display of overt emotion. T'Aman is very quiet as she scrutinizes Selek's face up-close. She touches his chin with her tiny, gentle fingers. She lets out a muted squeak that makes Selek's eyes crinkle even more.

Jim and Spock are also very quiet as they observe Selek carrying their daughter, standing next to each other with their hands at their sides. They both know that this is the closest Selek will ever come to holding a child of his own, the child he could have had with his own Jim in another reality. They both know how lucky they are, that they're here at all at this point in their reality's time and history, together in their life's work and in love, blessed with a child who is the best of both of them, a sum greater than the both of them.

"Tonk'peh, T'Aman," Selek says to her, his deep brown eyes twinkling (just like Spock's, just like Spock's). _Hello_.

"Tonk!" T'Aman squeals, patting Selek's mouth, and Jim gasps out loud, his own blue eyes going wide with excitement and gratification.

"Oh my god," Jim says, glancing at Spock with the same wide eyes. "Does that count as her first word?"

"No," Spock replies concisely, but later, Jim will totally agree with Spock on this because T'Aman will gaze up at him from within the cradle of his arms before falling asleep and say, "Dadda," and Spock will find him in T'Aman's quarters next to theirs with a wet face that gets wetter when Spock confesses that he'd been training T'Aman to say _Daddy_ to him for weeks.

So for now, for now, Jim accepts Spock's answer while Selek cuddles their beautiful, perfect, sweet, little daughter and smiles at her with crinkled, twinkling deep brown eyes. Jim accepts that while Vulcans really do suck at lying, by no means do they suck in any way at protecting and nurturing and _loving_ the people in their lives.

Well, from Jim's personal experience, certainly the ones named Spock.

 

<<< >>>

 

Spock says, "I am the guv-smol-mathra, minute and chalky and embedded in the abyssal mud of the Voroth Sea, alien to the sun beyond the waters above me."

Spock says, "I am ne-solektra-hatik, burrowed deep under the surface of Vulcan, stranger to the sun beyond the red sands above me."

Spock says, "I am the cir-cen and the d'lechu, squat and sightless cactus thirsting for water, blind to the sun above me."

Spock says, "I am the pen-gad-kastik, and at last my eyes see, when they could not before, the golden rays that bathe me."

Spock murmurs, "And you, my Jim, are the gad-keshtan, the dawn that blooms around me and in me and from me."

Spock murmurs, "You are the gad-ha'gel, the sunshine that burgeons my leaves, my stems, my branches to reach for you."

Spock murmurs, "You are the falek-wak, the summer of my katra that will never end, infinite as space."

And Spock whispers, "You are my kahs'khior'i, my eternal shooting star, and in your light I am the hopeful and young kan-lap. I am the evergreen kwon-mor-lap. I am the laptra, vast and dense and teeming, seeing you streak across the darkness of night above me, seeing you ignite the universe around me. Seeing you, seeing you."

And Jim, who still has no shame nor fear of demonstrating emotion for them both, smiles with crinkled, glistening eyes and soft, dark pink lips and rasps, "And they say Vulcans can't be romantic and feel nothing."

And Spock, sliding his fingers through Jim's still luxuriant hair more white than gold, replies, "Nam-tor nash-veh goh t'naman olozhikaik." _I am merely being logical_.

Spock whispers, "Nam-tor du – po'wak - kin-kur las'hark t'nash-veh." _You are, after all,_ _my golden sun_.

And after all these decades of being telsu and t'hai'la, Jim, who has always said things far better with action than with words, strokes the index and middle fingers of Spock's hands with his own in one of innumerable ozh'estas they have already imparted to each other. Jim touches their foreheads together. Their lips, together.

Ridiculous?

Ri, worla. _No, never_.

(T'Aman, in her crisp Starfleet blues and command badge pinned to her left breast, raises a thick, angular eyebrow at them and says with a twinkle in her crinkled, meteor-bright blue eyes, "Sa-mekh, Dad, do you _really_ still have to be this sentimental after 34.6 years of marriage?"

And Jim and Spock - who still love their daughter as much as they did the day they brought her into this universe and held her in their arms for the first time - continue to gaze into each other's crinkled, contented eyes, and reply in unison, "Ha."

Kaiidth. _What is, is_.)

 

<<< >>>

 

But here and now, on the bridge of the legendary USS Enterprise, Captain James Tiberius Kirk and Commander S'chn T'gai Spock stand side by side in front of the captain's chair and face the main viewscreen of the bridge. Their tried-and-true, incredible crew are at their respective stations, preparing for another day of impelling, intriguing exploration of the galaxy they all live in.

They are Captain and Commander. They are Starfleet officers. They are friends and brothers-in-arms and lovers and life-long companions. They are soulmates. They are t'hai'la. They are the parents of the chubbiest, jolliest, prettiest, smartest, most perfect baby girl in the entire universe (and anybody else who thinks otherwise can shut their pie-hole or get shot out the airlock into space).

They have so much more to see and experience and learn. They have so much more to _accomplish_.

They gaze at the black-velvet star-studded infinity of space, at their adventurous future unfurling before them.

"Stukh – kim-ek'zhel," Spock says, standing tall and shoulders squared, his head held high. _Space – the final frontier_.

"To boldly go where no man has gone before," Jim says, also standing tall and shoulders squared, his head held high, his eyes gleaming with pride, his lips curved up in a small smile of joy.

"Teretuhr," Spock murmurs for him alone, turning that head of immaculate, space-black hair and pointed Vulcan ears and crinkled, shining deep brown eyes towards him.

Jim also turns his head towards Spock, his own blue eyes crinkled as shafts of sunlight scatter across the canopy of the vast, verdant, boundless forest and twisting, flowing rivers of their shared mindspace, of their home anywhere they go.

"Yes," Jim murmurs for his t'hai'la alone, wrapped in the warm blanket of their loyalty and love for each other, of everything beautiful and real and necessary and eternal. "Together."

 **FIN**.


	4. A Smile Like Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a complete mushbag, here's Spock and Jim being complete mushbags with each other and their baby, from Spock's perspective.
> 
> This takes place about 1 1/2 months before Jim, Spock and their tried-and-true, incredible crew resume their five-year mission.

On an early Wednesday afternoon, Spock is alone in his temporary office at Starfleet Academy when he receives the video message on his PADD from Jim. He is meticulous and unhurried in setting down his cup of Vulcan mocha – alas, replicated and therefore not as delectable as he would like – and his PADD on his burnished desk. The azure sky that he can see through the tall and wide windows is cloudless. The sun is high and blinding and suspended upon its illusory blue, and Spock thinks about the meteor-bright blue of his mate's eyes, of their child's.

He sits behind his desk and picks up his PADD with both hands. To anyone passing by his office's half-open door, he is utterly expressionless as expected of a Vulcan, his lips straight and stern, his spine straight and his shoulders firm in his formal grays. His impassivity remains as he opens Jim's message on his PADD's screen and is faced with his beloved mate's smiling visage.

"Hey, babe! I know you're probably really busy being a sexy, strict instructor and all, but I thought you'd really, really wanna see this."

 _I am not a kan-bu_ , Spock would say to Jim if Jim was here with him. He knows that Jim would raise an eyebrow (just like him, just like him) and say, _well, I think you're cuddlesome and cute and you fit perfectly in my arms, so babe is_ exactly _what I'd call you_.

Jim. His friend. His brother-in-arms and life-long companion. His lover and bondmate and the father of their baby daughter. His t'hai'la.

To anyone passing by his office's half-open door, he is utterly expressionless as expected of a Vulcan. But he is also half-Human, and long has he not felt any inadequacy as a Vulcan as the corners of his eyes crease while he drinks in the vision of a clean-shaven, sprightly-eyed Jim.

A mere 4.7 months ago, he had witnessed Jim in devastating agony as Jim gave birth to their baby in a precipitate delivery without the benefit of asepsis. He is unashamed to admit that seeing Jim in such suffering had alarmed him. An hour into the labor, when Jim began writhing on the battered leather couch, screaming from the pain, Spock had been 97.8% persuaded by logic to get out as Jim earlier commanded to seek and return with medical assistance, or at least any form of pain relief.

It was the thought of having to leave Jim alone, of making Jim live his worst nightmare in such appalling circumstances, that stayed him. He'd already abandoned Jim once, marooning him on Delta Vega to fend for himself on its icy deadlands (although Jim himself doesn't count it due to the immense losses Spock had just experienced, something Jim tells him again and again). How could he do it then, when Jim and their child needed him most?

He had almost wept when Jim pushed their baby out and he saw and listened to the excruciating toll upon Jim: Jim's alluring face contorted and reddened, the rivulets of tears from those meteor-bright blue eyes that never seemed to end, the rough panting, the _screaming_ that even Leonard and the rescue team heard outside while they dashed and struggled through ruins to their aid. Then, Jim's alluring face going deathly white and slack, Jim's whole body going slack and lifeless on the couch, unresponsive even as he slipped into Jim's blacking-out mind, fearing the worst, fearing the absolute worst.

He had almost wept at the horror of seeing his mate die before him, again.

But Jim did not die. Jim, as he always has (and always will), survived. Jim survived and _prevailed_ , and bestowed upon him one of the finest gifts he will ever receive in his life.

That 4.7-month-old gift is now peering in the direction of Jim's PADD with meteor-bright blue eyes just like her Human father's, seated in a plushly cushioned baby high chair behind Jim. In the video message, Jim shows Spock a glimpse of their daughter in a multi-colored polka-dot onesie, then turns the PADD to partially face him again.

"She's getting so _mischievous_ , you know," Jim says, still smiling, his alluring, handsome face healthily flushed and tearless and free of any pain. "I thought I was just imagining it at first, but then I whipped out the PADD to record her and -" Jim breaks into low giggles, a mellifluous sound that creases Spock's eyes further. "You just gotta see for yourself."

Jim turns the camera to face their baby again. Jim slowly approaches her where she sits at the warmly lit, round dining table in their apartment in the Vulcan Consulates. She gazes unblinkingly up at Jim as he bends down so the camera is level with her face.

"T'Aman? T'Aman. Hi, sugar-bug!" Jim says blithely off-camera, shaking the PADD for a moment to focus T'Aman's attention on it. "You gonna give Daddy a beautiful smile?"

T'Aman's eyes are large and long-lashed. They twinkle as they gaze on at Jim off-camera. T'Aman sucks her lips into her mouth, then shakes her head of luxuriant, space-black curls from side to side. Jim lets out that low giggle again.

"No? No, you don't wanna smile for Daddy?" Spock can tell just from Jim's amusing tone that Jim is pouting his lower lip exaggeratedly at T'Aman and showing her a sad expression. "But Daddy loves your beautiful smile!"

Again, T'Aman shakes her head from side to side, her eyes twinkling even more. Jim laughs louder this time, his appealing voice brimming with love and amusement.

"Okay, baby," Jim says, reaching out to caress both of T'Aman's chubby, green-flushed cheeks with the back of his fingers. "I'm gonna cut up some bananas and avocados for you, okay? Yum yum!"

The camera view rises as Jim stands upright. Then Jim turns around but holds the PADD so that its camera is recording over his shoulder with half his face in view while T'Aman is in the background facing the camera and Jim's back.

"Okay. She thinks I can't see her because I've turned around," Jim whispers, looking at the camera, at Spock, his blue eyes crinkled from a reined-in smile. "Watch this."

Jim holds the PADD up as he walks a few steps away from the dining table. Spock can see that T'Aman is gazing at Jim as he walks away, unaware of the PADD still recording her. Then, with Jim's back still turned towards her, her chubby, green-tinged face ignites into an enormous smile. She scrabbles at the high chair's smooth, beige tray with her tiny, chunky fingers with jollity. Jim, able to see what the camera sees via the PADD's screen, is now trying so hard to not laugh aloud, his eyes scrunched up.

In the solitude of his office, Spock permits himself to stroke with his thumbs the screen over Jim's cheek, over their smiling daughter's face.

Without moving the PADD, Jim turns his head back to glance sharply at T'Aman … who has sucked her lips back into her mouth and sits quietly in her high chair. She stares at Jim with wide, outwardly innocent eyes while Jim laughs once more, his teeth gleaming and straight, his golden-blond hair short and opulent.

"Did you smile at me, sugar-bug?!" Jim says, laughing yet again when T'Aman, with her lips still sucked in, shakes her head from side to side solemnly. "No? You didn't smile? You really didn't? Well, okay then. I'm gonna get you some banana and avocados now."

Jim turns around with his back facing their baby daughter once more.

"She's not even five months old yet," Jim whispers, "and she can control her face so well."

Jim simply stands where he is this time, giggling soundlessly as T'Aman, still believing that Jim cannot see her now, lets loose that enormous, impish smile a second time. Jim swivels his head back before T'Aman can hide her smile, and simultaneously, Jim and T'Aman squeal at each other. T'Aman smacks her hands on the high chair's tray with glee as Jim gambols back to her, laughing all the way.

"You little rascal!" Jim exclaims off-camera, pinching one of her cheeks as she grins up at him. "I saw it! I saw it, I saw it, I saw it."

In the solitude of his office, even as San Francisco sunlight cascades down upon him, Spock abruptly senses the emptiness at his side, in his arms. He pauses the video message. He makes a video call to Jim. Through their bond, he reaches out for his mate and enfolds the golden, explosive and exceptionally bright Human in a warm blanket of his love and affection.

Jim picks up in three seconds. Spock senses the same warm blanket enfolding him in their shared mindspace.

"Hey, you," Jim rasps at the camera, smiling sleepily at Spock. Jim's hair is mussed from slumber. Jim is lying on his back on their bed, with T'Aman face up on his chest and shoulder. Her head is pillowed on what Spock recognizes as Jim's bundled up cashmere sweater. Her chubby cheek is pressed to Jim's still clean-shaven one. She is awake like her Human father is, her identical, meteor-bright blue eyes gazing up at the PADD's screen.

"I apologize, Jim, for interrupting your nap, and T'Aman's -"

"Seriously?" Jim raises one thick eyebrow at Spock (just like him, just like him) while holding the PADD above him and their daughter. "You are actually _apologizing_ for taking the time to call up your husband and check up on our kid?"

"Technically, I am apologizing for waking you and T'Aman from your nap."

Jim rolls his eyes, but he is also smiling softly.

"It's the same thing, you _pedant_ ," Jim teases.

At that instant, T'Aman's features ignite with that enormous, sweet smile again at Spock. She flails her chunky arms towards him and lets out a joyful noise.

"T'Aman," Spock says in greeting, his eyes creasing even more. "Ko-fu t'nash-veh." _My daughter_.

Jim turns his head to look at T'Aman, his blue eyes twinkling even as he pouts his lower lip exaggeratedly.

"Oh. _Oh_ , I see how it is," Jim says, grabbing one of T'Aman's arms and gently shaking it, making her chortle while she tilts her head back to return Jim's gaze. "You won't give Daddy your smiles, but _Sa-mekh_ gets them, huh?"

Jim glances at Spock and winks at him. Spock's lips do not move, but in their shared mindspace, the blanket around them grows ever warmer. Jim hugs T'Aman closer to his face and gives her a long, noisy kiss on the cheek.

"Have you had lunch?" Jim then asks while rubbing their quietening baby's belly over her multi-colored polka-dot onesie.

"Yes, Jim. The cafeteria had vegetarian lasagna today."

Sure enough, Jim makes a face of distaste, sticking his pink tongue out.

"Eeuggh, _vegetable_ lasagna from the _cafeteria_. I can cook better than that!"

If Jim is expecting him to deny that, Jim will be disappointed.

"That is true," he says as a matter of fact. "Your sliced zucchini and mushroom mozzarella lasagna last week was delicious. Father agrees."

In the past, before they became more than friends, before the nights of chess in Jim's quarters on board the Enterprise, before their meals together in the mess, Spock knows that Jim would have brushed off a comment like that with a self-derogatory one. Spock knows that Jim could not bring himself to accept genuine praise in lieu of insincere flattery that Jim himself has harnessed as a weapon time and again in diplomatic discourse.

"Lesek, ashal-veh," Jim simply says now, gazing at him with meteor-bright, meteor-warm eyes while cuddling their baby. _Thank you, darling_.

Spock tilts his head in silent acknowledgment, making Jim's eyes crinkle more. He is not sure why the motion brings cheer to Jim, but if such a simple thing can make his bondmate happy, who is he to refrain himself from doing it?

"So how's everything at the Academy?"

Spock considers the question.

"Monotonous," he answers bluntly, and Jim snickers while T'Aman sucks on her fist with half-shut eyes.

"Hey, you're the one who agreed with the Academy to continue teaching even after I popped out this little sugar-bug."

Spock tilts his head again, then says, "That is true. I am now conjecturing why I made such a decision, when I can be with you and our child instead."

Jim chuckles, a soft, fond sound.

"It's just until the Enterprise is ready again, anyway," Jim murmurs, glancing at T'Aman, at her eyelids fluttering down in drowsiness, at her fist still stuck to her mouth. "You miss Sa-mekh, baby? Hm? He's coming home soon."

T'Aman's eyes are shut. Her arm twitches but she doesn't respond in any other way. Jim smiles at her and kisses her temple. Then he glances back at Spock.

"You're smiling," Jim murmurs, his own dark pink lips bowed up.

"Vulcans do not smile," Spock says, and Jim's lips bow up even more.

"You keep telling yourself that, Mister Spock. But I saw you smile. And it was … radiant."

Spock, being the wise Vulcan that he is, does not deny it nor decline the compliment.

"And I'm the only one who gets to see it, aren't I?" Jim whispers.

"Yes, Jim," Spock replies, stroking the screen above his bondmate's cheek with his thumb.

Jim doesn't call him out on his contradictory statements. Jim carefully grasps one of T'Aman's arms and waves it at him.

"Okay. We'll see you soon, babe," Jim says, pressing his cheek against a sleeping T'Aman's. "I'm gonna make that pesto pasta that you liked too."

"Jim, I am not a kan-bu," Spock says, his eyes not crinkled at all, his heart in his side not warm and full and beating for the two most precious beings his deep brown eyes gaze upon his PADD screen, for Vulcans do not smile nor are they romantic or feel anything.

"Well, I think you're cuddlesome and cute and you fit perfectly in my arms," Jim retorts, his eyes twinkling, twinkling. "So babe is _exactly_ what I'd call you."

Spock, knowing what a terrible liar he is, even to himself, says in lieu of ineffectively refuting Jim's comment, "I will see you and T'Aman soon."

"See you, _babe_ ," his t'hai'la murmurs, smiling at him one last time before ending the call. (Because he never does so unless he has no choice, and Jim teases him about it now and then, comparing him to a lovesick teenage Human. He finds he is nowhere as offended as he would have been years ago by such a statement, given that Jim is equally guilty of behaving like one around him.)

In the solitude of his office, with no one passing its half-open door, Spock sits back in his cushioned armchair and gazes out the windows at the azure, cloudless sky. He basks in the sunshine from a high, blinding, suspended sun that pales in comparison to the two exceptionally bright, explosive and enthralling stars of his life. He takes a sip of his replicated, still-hot Vulcan mocha.

And just for a moment, he shuts his eyes and permits his lips to curl up, just like his daughter's do.


	5. Spock's Ode to his Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock's ode to his daughter, T'Aman.

My daughter, what do I tell you that you need  
To know of your life to come?

Daddy’s smile, which belonged to everyone  
And yet no one, which now belongs to me will  
Become yours also,  
Bowl below your little giant meteors  
Igniting your Daddy, igniting me.  
Your Ko-mekh-il’s smile uproots itself  
In your teeth-buds  
In your hands wringing feeling from my face.  
My eyes betray me but I am  
Whole in yours.

You grow wiser and brighter by the hour  
By the day, by the sun rise and fall.  
In your star-shine  
Your Daddy’s shadows cannot  
Touch or become him anymore.

Under the sun your Daddy and I have lost too much  
Orphans with no Goodbyes  
Your Daddy’s daddy left him  
Hanging on a cliff,  
Your Ko-mekh-il left me  
Dropped from a cliff, from life  
Left me a soul with a hole reaching for her  
Hanging, hanging in an eternal second.  
Hanged soul empty-mouthed and  
Empty-handed.

Under the moon your Daddy and I have  
Him and I and You and Us.  
We cradle you in our hands, in our chests.  
Your Daddy plants a tree then another,  
Then another along  
Your face-planes and arm-hills and in the  
Big bowl below your little giant meteors  
You grow and grow in our anywhere-home.

We will lose more.  
Amidst tiny supernovas and massive whimpers,  
We will lose more and your tiny massive heart will break  
Your giant meteors will burst again, again -  
So will your Daddy’s, so will mine but  
Time soars forward and onward.  
An eternal second is still just one of an  
Infinity of them,  
An infinity of your Daddy and you  
That lifts me from that crumbling edge,  
That touches my fingers to your Ko-mekh-il’s  
That touched my face,

And we will lose but we will  
Win and win again  
In the falling rays of your sun, under your wings  
Under your Daddy’s smile  
Under mine and yours.

My fingers remember your Daddy’s. And my fingers  
Remember your fingers and  
Your fingers remember my fingers  
In all our laughter and hope -  
We love you. We will never leave you.

We live on in you.

 


	6. Twitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today being the day it is and just finding out that the White House website has been scrubbed of its LGBTQA page ... I think we're in need of happy Jim with his happy Vulcan bondmate and their happy baby girl.
> 
> This takes place about a month before Jim and Spock resume their five-year mission.
> 
> P.S. I wrote this on the fly so my apologies for it being so short as well.

Jim hasn’t seen Spock appear so solemn in ages.

“Jim,” Spock says, his familiar, handsome face Vulcan-blank as he sits on the coffee table facing Jim sitting on the couch with their five-month-old baby girl on his lap. “What I will be showing you is something that Humans do not know about Vulcans. It must not be shared.”

In a rumpled, white t-shirt and black sweatpants, Jim is the epitome of a dazed Human who has just rolled out of bed and hasn’t had his enormous dose of sweet, _sweet_ coffee yet. He had to forego the dark nectar of the gods throughout his pregnancy and now that his chubby, jolly, pretty, smart baby girl is out of his body, he can have all the coffee he wants, damnit.

Well, right after Spock finally shows him how he calms T’Aman down so fast without using any telepathy.

“ _O_ -kay,” Jim says with straight lips but crinkled, meteor-bright blue eyes. “I promise I won’t tell anybody?”

Spock raises that highly angular eyebrow, somehow still looking so regal in those black, silk pajamas after rolling out of bed the same time as Jim.

“You articulated that as a question, not a statement.”

Jim rolls his eyes and cuddles a gurgling, arm-flailing T’Aman closer to his torso. She’s dressed in a cream-colored onesie with embroidered baby yellow ducklings that Bones had bought for her simply on a whim (or so the Giant Marshmallow said).

“I seriously swear on my left pinky,” Jim declares with an utterly straight face, “that I will never, ever, _ever_ tell anyone about this super-secret Vulcan thing that you are about to show me.”

Spock narrows those big, brilliant deep brown eyes, just a bit. It’s enough to make Jim’s lips tremor before straightening out again. Through their bond, Jim sends his mate a gentle wave of warmth like the morning sunshine bathing them through the apartment’s living room windows.

“I _promise_ , Spock. Now show me this magical thing you do!”

Spock’s eyes are crinkled too as Spock shifts his gaze from Jim’s face down to their daughter’s. T’Aman has begun to fret in Jim’s arms, flailing her chubby arms even more and kicking her equally chubby legs, her even chubbier face gradually scrunching up in what looks to be an epic wail.

“T’Aman,” Spock says calmly, his face Vulcan-blank once more.

T’Aman lets out a high-pitched noise of frustration but stops flailing her arms around. She frowns at Spock while sucking on her right fist and bending her legs.

Jim watches Spock as raptly as Spock gazes at T’Aman.

For a moment, Spock doesn’t do anything else.

Then, Spock’s ears _twitch_.

Their pointed ends flick outward and then return to their original positions, hummingbird-fast. Jim’s lower jaw sags and his eyes pop wide open. T’Aman has gone totally quiet in his arms, staring at her sa-mekh with equally blue and wide eyes, her plump lips parted.

Spock, his face still Vulcan-blank, leans forward and twitches his ears twice more, then again after a pause.

T’Aman’s lips slowly bow up in a delighted smile. She squeals softly and kicks her legs against Jim’s thighs while Jim has now sucked both lips into his mouth (just like his sweet baby does), trying not to keel over and _implode_ from the cuteness.

What really sends him over the edge is the sight of T’Aman twitching her own pointed ears back at Spock.

“Oh my god,” Jim chokes out when he can between uncontrollable gusts of laughter, his face flushed, blinking tears of mirth out of his eyes, “ _you_ can do it too?!”

By some miracle, Spock is _still_ expressionless. His crinkled, warm eyes betray the stern set of his features.

“Jim, it is merely the contraction and release of muscles in my ears. I do not see what is so amusing about it.”

Then Spock, the sassy _ass_ , gazes at Jim and _twitches_ those pointed ears again.

Jim falls back on the couch and hugs a giggling T’Aman to his chest while he laughs. He can feel Spock’s amusement and their baby girl’s glee through their familial bond.

“Oh man, I’ve seen T’Aman twitch her ears a few times,” Jim says to Spock later while they’re eating a breakfast of buttered toast, cereal in fresh milk and fresh fruits (and of course, coffee) at the dining table. “But I didn’t know you guys consciously do it too.” Jim bites back a snicker then says, deadpan, “Why don’t you guys do it around other people? It’s … _cute_!”

“Precisely,” Spock replies just as deadpan, and Jim releases that snicker, shaking his head.

“You should fuss more often so Daddy can watch your Sa-mekh twitch those sexy pointy ears,” Jim stage-whispers to T’Aman seated in her high chair between them.

She isn’t listening to Jim at all. She’s mashing fresh peach onto her plate with one hand and smiling to herself. Jim smiles at her anyway and kisses her tender temple.

“Come here,” Jim then murmurs to Spock over T’Aman’s bowed head, gazing at Spock with heavy-lidded, beckoning eyes.

Jim and Spock lean towards each other at the same time over T’Aman’s head. Jim molds his milk-chilled lips to Spock’s sun-hot ones, and yeah, he knows it’s love when Spock doesn’t even complain about that and just presses their parted lips and tongues even closer and harder together.

Yeah, he knows it’s love when Spock twitches those pointed ears yet again against his caressing fingers, even as he chuckles into Spock’s curled-up lips.


	7. My Favorite Story is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, then. This has certainly been a depressing week full of WTF-ness and disappointment. I suppose it's why this update is angsty up the wazoo with a crying baby and a certain captain tearing up as much. (But also has its sweetness, don't worry.)
> 
> This takes place about 1 1/2 years after the Enterprise resumes its five-year mission of exploration.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Dustin O'Halloran's Opus 20](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8601bBpQX5k). 
> 
> The last one minute of it is just about perfect for the last five paragraphs. You'll, uh, hear what I mean.

Jim is already choking up as T'Aman darts to his bedside on two little, chunky legs, her also chunky arms reaching out for him. On her heels at a sedate pace is Spock in his crisp, blue uniform, finally able to visit after the end of his shift on the bridge as acting Captain.

{Daddy!}

He extends his bandaged right hand to the side of his sickbay bed lowered close to the floor but he can't touch her. His hand smacks against the transparent aluminum chamber encasing the bed.

 _I'm sorry, Jim_ , Bones had said to him yesterday after treating him for his minor injuries to his right hand, forearm and shoulder. _We need to find out what exactly that powder was that goddamn Vidiian_ assassin _threw on you and we can't risk any possible contamination_.

Jim hadn't balked at being quarantined in the bio-bed-sized, air-filtered chamber. The safety of his crew is paramount to him, and if guaranteeing that involves him being stuck in a small, enclosed space for a few days, then that's how it goes. As for his family, his Vulcan bondmate and their two-year-old daughter, he has his telepathic bonds with them to maintain regular communication even when they're out of sight of each other.

What he hadn't foreseen was how much his sweet, little girl misses his physical touch, his hugs and kisses and nuzzles.

"I miss you, Dadda," T'Aman says to him from the other side of the transparent aluminum. She's attired in a short-sleeved, white t-shirt and denim overalls. Her luxuriant, space-black curls are tamed tonight and tucked behind her pointed ears. She has pressed both hands to the chamber's smooth, solid surface. She gazes at him with big, glistening eyes and a furrowed brow and a wobbly lower lip.

{Why Daddy still in there?} she says through their mental bond. {Cannot hug Daddy.}

Jim blinks several times even as he smiles back at her and presses his hand to one of hers. Behind her, he sees Spock nimbly lowering himself to the floor to sit cross-legged. Through his bond with his Vulcan mate, Jim greets Spock by wrapping a blanket of heat around both of them in their tranquil albeit somber mindspace. Like T'Aman, Spock can't physically touch him either, impeded by the quarantine chamber.

It is not lost on Jim how history sometimes has a way of repeating itself in the most heart-wrenching ways.

"Hey, sugar-bug," Jim rasps, rolling onto his side on the lowered bed to face her and be closer to her. "I miss you so much too. Have you been a good girl for Sa-mekh?"

T'Aman scratches at the transparent aluminum with her little, desperate fingers. She glances up and to the sides as she studies the cage keeping her away from her Human father. Her round, green-tinged face contorts into a sorrowful frown that makes Jim swallow hard and blink his eyes clear again. Despite explaining the situation as simply as he could to her yesterday, Jim knows that she still doesn't quite understand why he's being quarantined and why he can't hold or hug her like he always does.

"T'Aman? Honey?" He waits until T'Aman is gazing at him again, pouting at him and pressing both hands to the transparent aluminum again before speaking more. "Remember what Sa-mekh and I told you? And what Bonesy said? Daddy won't be in here for long. But until then, I have to be in here to protect everyone, including you."

Through their mental bond, he projects warm waves of love at her. He can see them affecting her from her hands sliding down the transparent aluminum, from her eyes relaxing from their stark roundness, from her pout disappearing.

"A bad man hurt me yesterday morning at a big meeting with lots of important people," Jim explains once more, patiently, lowering his hand so that it presses against T'Aman's again. "Sa-mekh stopped the man, but the man also threw some kind of powder at my face. Bonesy is finding out if the powder is bad and will hurt me or other people. That's why I have to be in here. Do you understand, sugar-bug?"

T'Aman stares at him silently with those big, meteor-bright blue eyes so much like his. Then she glances around again at the transparent aluminum chamber. She smacks her hands on it in blatant frustration, her sweet face a frown of indignation.

"I miss you, Dadda!" she says, smacking the transparent aluminum a second time.

{Want Daddy! _Want Daddy_!}

Jim is utterly helpless as he watches his sweet, little girl try her best to break through the quarantine chamber to him. She smacks her hands on it again and again, calling out for him through their bond until Spock calmly grasps her by her flanks and draws her away.

T'Aman's lower lip isn't the only one trembling in the room while Spock grasps her shoulders and gazes at her and murmurs reassuringly in Vulcan to her. T'Aman gazes back at her Vulcan father with wide, glistening eyes. Unobserved, Jim bites his wayward lower lip and blinks yet again. His sweet, little girl. His little butterfly. His little dancer. All she wants is a hug, and he can't give even that to her.

By the time T'Aman is facing him and come up close to him again, Jim is smiling softly, projecting more waves of warmth at her through their bond.

"Tell me what you did today, honey," Jim says to her, touching the chamber's transparent aluminum again when T'Aman presses her hands on it and stares at him with those big, sad eyes.

In halting sentences, T'Aman tells him about Zaras - her lovely Andorian nanny who'd joined the crew two months after the Enterprise resumed its five-year mission of exploration – reading her favorite books with her and strolling through the ship with her between her naps. The light of happiness returns to T'Aman's eyes as she speaks to Jim. He encourages her to talk with nods and smiles. He chuckles and claps when she tells him she wants to learn to dance and twirls around with her arms spread. Behind her, Spock is still sitting cross-legged and straight-spined, his long-fingered hands resting on his thighs. Spock's face is Vulcan-blank but his eyes are crinkled and warm as he gazes at T'Aman twirling and smiling.

All too soon, T'Aman has to leave for bedtime. She doesn't realize this until Spock stands up and bends down to say to her, "It is time for bed now, ko-fu."

Instantly, that wide-eyed, sorrowful frown is back on T'Aman's face. She starts to struggle as Spock grasps her under her arms and lifts her up. Jim understands why Spock isn't giving T'Aman a chance to say goodnight to him. Last night when T'Aman had also visited him, she'd refused to let Spock pick her up after she and Jim bade each other goodnight. She'd even dashed away from Spock to hide on the opposite side of the bed despite Jim telling her to be obedient and go with her sa-mekh.

In any other circumstances, he would have laughed with glee at Spock chasing their daughter around his bed. But his poor baby had been bawling her eyes out the whole time. She'd wailed for her daddy and refused to leave until she got a hug and kiss goodnight from Jim.

Jim had held on to his composure until Spock quietly carried away a still-bawling T'Aman who got neither from Jim. Alone, Jim hadn't cared about openly swiping his wet eyes with the back of his left hand. He thought he knew what hell was but no, he hadn't, not until he learned exactly what it felt like to be able to see and hear his sweet, little daughter in person and yet be unable to hold her hand or cuddle her close to his heart or kiss her plump cheek. Little things he'd taken for granted.

Tonight, T'Aman is crying, too. She thrashes in Spock's sinewy, unyielding arms that hold her close to Spock's broad chest. Her face has crumpled, flushing dark green and gleaming with trails of hot tears. Her mouth is open wide in a loud wail.

{It's okay, baby,} Jim says to her through their mental bond. {It's okay. I love you. I'll give you all the hugs and kisses you want the moment I'm out of here, I promise. I love you.}

He isn't sure if he can say the words aloud without crumpling himself or if T'Aman will even hear him over her wailing. He continues to comfort her through their bond as Spock glances back at him, a single, warm glance that speaks a thousand words of empathy and love, before heading for the door of his private sickbay room. He can see T'Aman's head over Spock's shoulder. Her brimming eyes are squinted from her crying but they're staring back at Jim.

"Dadda," T'Aman keens, stretching out one chubby hand towards him over Spock's shoulder.

Jim stretches out his own hand towards her but it smacks against the quarantine chamber's wall. He keeps a smile pasted on his face until she can't see him anymore. He keeps comforting her through their bond, even after the door shuts behind Spock. Alone again, he rolls onto his back and runs his left hand down his damp face. He clenches the same hand. Slams it down near his hip on the bed. He stares up at the white, sterile ceiling with hazy eyes.

Fuck. _Fuck_ , he feels so _stupid_ for reacting so emotionally to his baby girl crying. (He doesn't even have fluctuating hormones to blame anymore.) It's far from the first time that T'Aman has bawled so hard. And just two weeks ago, while exploring a new M-class planet, he and his security team had been captured by a pack of Anticans, a dog-like, carnivorous and violent alien race, who'd tried to _cook_ them for dinner. Just eight days ago, the Enterprise had a tense confrontation with a Cardassian warship that fortunately concluded with zero shots fired thanks to Jim's lightning-fast sweet-talking. Just over an Earth day ago, he and Spock and a team from the science and security departments were in a diplomatic conference with the humanoid Vidiians who claimed to wish to join the Federation, a conference where a frightening-looking, disfigured Vidiian man tried to assassinate him.

Jim hadn't cracked once during any of these events. Barely showed emotion other than a stern, bold face that any Vulcan would be proud to don. But one wailed plea from his sweet, little baby for him? One tear from her eye? That's it. That's all it takes for Captain James Tiberius Kirk to go down like a felled Redwood and cry like a baby too.

He already misses his sweet, little baby girl so much that it fucking hurts his _soul_.

{Daddy,} he hears her call for him through their bond. {Daddy. Daddy.}

{It's okay. Everything's okay. I love you so much, sugar-bug.}

He says the same words over and over to her, until he senses her brilliant mind dimming with slumber, like a curtain drawn over a sun-lit window. He continues to stare at the ceiling when he hears the door open then shut again. He stares on as Spock returns to his cross-legged, straight-spined pose on the floor, much nearer to Jim now.

"She okay?" Jim rasps, still staring at the ceiling.

"Yes, Jim. Zaras was helpful in mollifying her to sleep." Spock pauses, then murmurs, "T'Aman misses your physical proximity deeply after 31.4 hours of separation. While she has been separated from you for days during past missions, with visual and auditory communication only through secured channels, it is the first time she has been in your presence and prevented from physically touching you in any way." Spock pauses again. "I confess that I intensely relate to her dissatisfaction with this situation."

Jim turns his head to look at Spock. Then he rolls onto his side again to face his bondmate. Spock's intense, deep brown eyes are at half-mast. Spock's shoulders are loose, as are his hands on knobby knees. There are no shadows beneath Spock's eyes nor any lines of strain, but Jim knows better than to assume that Spock isn't stressed.

Spock had lunged at the Vidiian assassin who slashed Jim with a small knife, after that dark gray powder exploded all over his face. Spock took down the screaming Vidiian in seconds with a to'tsu'k'hy, the Vulcan nerve pinch. Blinded as he was at the time, he could still _feel_ how enraged Spock was from the way their mindspace _shook_ and became awash in blood-red.

To top it off, Spock hasn't had any physical contact with him since the botched assassination. And he's stuck inside a transparent aluminum chamber while potentially being compromised by a Vidiian toxin Bones had never encountered before.

"You okay?" he murmurs to his beloved Vulcan mate.

"Nam-tor nash-veh muhl," Spock replies. _I am well_. "I have had adequate sleep and nourishment."

One end of Jim's lips quirk up.

"Which is to say, you've slept about an hour since the conference and eaten one meal at most."

Spock doesn't deny it. Spock merely gazes back at him with those intense, beautiful deep brown eyes.

Jim looks Spock in the eye as he presses his left hand flat against the quarantine chamber's smooth, solid surface. He watches Spock inhale deeply and slowly once. He watches Spock's right hand rise to meet his on the transparent aluminum. He shifts his fingers so that they precisely match the placement of Spock's. Spock's still exquisite, adept fingers are longer and thinner than his.

He misses their touch as much as he misses their sweet, little baby girl.

"I'll be okay, k'diwa," he murmurs. "It's been a day and half and I'm not showing any symptoms or feeling any pain. I'll be out of here in no time."

"I spoke with Leonard in the laboratories before returning here. He shares your opinion and will have a report ready soon with a detailed analysis of the Vidiian toxin."

In Spock's presence, Jim allows his eyes to shut for a long second. Oh man, it's one thing to keep telling yourself something to believe it, it's another to have someone else confirm that it's true. If there's anyone that he and Spock trust to do a conscientious, credible job (especially in regards to Jim's life), it's Bones. If Bones says he's going to be okay, yeah … he's going to be okay.

When he opens his eyes, Spock is still gazing at him with half-mast, warm eyes. Their hands are still molded reflections on the transparent aluminum.

"What's the latest word on the assassin?"

Spock's face is as Vulcan-blank as ever, but Jim sees the dangerous flash across Spock's eyes.

"The Vidiian authorities stated that he was a lone wolf who had intended to … harvest your skin, hair and other organs."

Jim gapes at his bondmate with wide eyes and a sagging jaw.

" _What_?" Jim blinks, then asks, noting Spock's use of past tense, "So, he _wasn't_ an assassin?"

"The Vidiians suffer from a disease known as the Phage. After thousands of years of being ravaged by it, many of those infected have resorted to plundering other species for their organs as replacements."

Jim grimaces and says, "Ugh. So this Phage-infected Vidiian guy wanted my skin, hair _and_ organs to, what, _stick_ them on and inside himself?"

"Yes, Jim." One of Spock's highly angular eyebrows arches up. "He had admitted to the Vidiian authorities that he found your physical appearance extremely appealing, in particular your eyes."

Jim sucks in his lower lip.

"Uhm. I … Should I … take that as a _compliment_?"

He lets out a soundless huff of laughter when Spock raises his eyebrow even more. In their shared mindspace, Jim is enfolded in a thick blanket of warmth akin to Spock embracing him from behind with both arms, to being in the soothing shade of a towering green-leafed, purple-trunked tree on red, sizzling sand. He gives Spock a tender smile, much more relaxed (if not any happier, knowing his sweet, little baby girl still misses him so much like he misses her).

Spock then says, "The Vidiian authorities also informed me that he would be charged and punished in accordance with their laws regarding any attacks with the purpose of harvesting organs."

"I'm gonna guess the punishment for that is _pretty_ bad."

"Death by hanging," Spock replies, matter-of-fact. "Nyota and I did our best to convince them to transfer him into our custody so that he would be tried under Federation law instead for assaulting a Starfleet captain."

Again, one end of Jim's lips quirk up. This time, his eyes are also crinkled and warm with affection and pride.

"To avoid the death sentence for him."

Spock tilts his head.

"Yes," Spock says. Then, Spock lowers his eyes. "We failed. He was hanged an hour ago. Vesht tor etek kanok-vel if kup." _We did everything we could_.

Jim presses his hand harder to the transparent aluminum.

"Hey." When Spock looks him in the eye again, he says, "Thank you for saving my life. Again."

The skin around Spock's eyes crease.

"You are welcome, ashal-veh. Always."

Neither of them lower their hands from the wall of the quarantine chamber. They gaze at each other quietly and bask in each other's presence, even if they cannot yet physically touch.

"Var-tor n'nash-veh mu-yor-var," Jim murmurs. _Tell me a bedtime story_.

Spock's eyes crinkle even more.

"Would you like to hear the story about a Vulcan Starfleet instructor meeting his t'hai'la for the first time at the Academy?"

Jim grins at his friend, his brother-in-arms and life-long companion, his lover and bondmate and the father of their sweet, little daughter. His cherished t'hai'la.

"Yes," Jim murmurs in return, shifting into a more comfortable position on his side, still pressing his hand against Spock's. "That's one of my favorite stories ever."

 

<<< >>>

 

"For a Vidiian, the amount of toxin thrown at your face would have knocked them down for the count for _days_ ," Bones says to him after finally letting him out of the quarantine chamber and removing his bandages. "But for a Human? Turns out the stuff that can render Vidiians unconscious and even kill them doesn't do a damn thing to Humans after all. The fool might as well have chucked a cupful of flour at your face. Thank the good lord."

"I tell you, kid, somebody up there really, really, _really_ loves you," Bones also says to him. "Thanks to the dermal regenerator, you won't have a single scar from the knife wounds either."

"And yes, Jim, you're clear," Bones also says to him before he can even open his own mouth. "Now go get a shower before you see T'Aman. You _stink_!"

Jim is in and out of the sonic shower attached to Bones' office in sickbay in less than two minutes. In a fresh uniform and clean-shaven, he's sprinting to the turbolift and out of it towards his daughter's quarters in as few minutes. He lets himself in with a quick command and code to the Computer.

T'Aman and Zaras are seated at the low, round table at the foot of T'Aman's bed, reading an illustrated, Standard English book together. T'Aman's expression is one of poignant melancholy as she stares down silently at the page Zaras is pointing at with a blue finger.

Jim had deliberately not communicated with T'Aman through their mental bond to surprise her and indeed, when she raises her head and sees him standing there at the shut door, her big, blue eyes (just like his, just like his) go round until the whites are visible around the irises. Jim goes down on his knees and spreads his arms wide with an even wider grin as she squeals at the top of her voice and tumbles onto the floor on all fours from her chair in her excitement. Zaras is also smiling broadly as T'Aman races from the table and into Jim's arms with her own chunky arms spread wide to hug her daddy.

Jim lifts her up against his chest and shoulder and embraces her as tightly as he can with both arms, his eyes squeezed shut, his cheek pressed to her plump one. She feels so tiny and fragile in his arms and yet so tremendous and almighty that it frightens him and fills him with even more undying love for her. He sniffs at her luxuriant, space-black curls. He breathes in her flagrant, ambrosial scent that's still like honey and petrichor and sunflower and apple pie straight out of the oven. She lets out those tinkling bell-like belly laughs when he playfully tickles her sides and bare feet, and he laughs too, kissing her forehead then her cheeks then her forehead again.

{Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.}

"Hi, sugar-bug!" Jim says blithely, squeezing his arms tightly around his sweet, little girl again. "Did you miss me?"

"I missed you, Dadda. I love you," T'Aman says, nuzzling his neck and hugging him back with both arms and that's it, that's all it takes for Captain James Tiberius Kirk's eyes to fill too.

"I missed you and love you so much, honey," he rasps in return, blinking his eyes several times, smiling down at her. "See? I promised you I'd be out in no time to give you all the hugs and kisses you want."

Through his bond with Spock, he senses Spock's acknowledgment of his release from sickbay and Spock's gratification at his reunion with their daughter. He sends Spock an unmistakable image of him and Spock kissing the Human way and oh yeah, Spock's definitely gotten the hint about clearing his schedule for tonight (after they read T'Aman her bedtime story and tuck her into bed).

Jim gives Zaras the rest of the day and night off and thanks her for taking such good care of T'Aman for the past two days. After Zaras leaves T'Aman's room, he lies on his back on T'Aman's bed with her still cuddled in his arms against his chest.

"Dadda," she mumbles into his gold tunic.

He kisses her on the crown of her head, then asks, "Hey, baby, you wanna hear the story about the first time Daddy saw you while you were still in my tummy?"

He feels T'Aman's cheek slide against his tunic as she moves her head.

"My story!" she says, and he can feel her cheek bunch in a smile.

"Yeah," Jim murmurs, smiling too, his eyes shut as he strokes his sweet, chubby, happy, perfect little girl's hair and pointed ears and basks in her irreplaceable, miraculous presence. "Your story is one of my favorite stories ever, too."


	8. Jim's Ode to his Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In appreciation of this story receiving over 1000 kudos, an ode from Jim to his daughter, T'Aman.

Roses are red  
Roses are also pink, peach, orange and  
Yellow and white and purple  
But Daddy’s favorite color is  
Green like your plump cheeks when  
You smile at me first thing in the morning  
You reach for me with both hands  
You hold me in your arms and  
You call me Dadda like I am  
Your entire universe like I am  
Your sunshine that lights you up

But, sugar-bug, the truth is  
You are my entire universe  
You are my sunshine that lights me up  
You are my lodestone that  
Guides my way through this  
Black-velvet star-studded infinity of space  
You are your Sa-mekh’s eye-twinkle  
Your Sa-mekh’s blood your Sa-mekh’s hope  
Your Sa-mekh’s smile I see  
On your sweet face and in your  
Eyes just like mine, just like my Daddy’s

Daddy’s no good at writing poems  
But Daddy knows how to love you  
Daddy knows what to give you that  
I never got from my Daddy or Mommy  
Daddy knows that time always moves on  
Time changes and ends everything but  
Some things are reborn again and again  
Some things only grow stronger  
Each time they die and are reborn

I know I know for  
I have died I have been reborn  
And I still loved your Sa-mekh  
After being remade in blood heart soul  
I still love your Sa-mekh  
I still love you

I love you  
I will never leave you  
I love you  
I love you

My little dancer  
I will always love you.


	9. A Daughter's Ode to her Fathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, an ode from little T'Aman to her Daddy and Sa-mekh (and Jim's and Spock's responses to it).

I love Daddy and Sa-mekh so so so much  
When I laugh Daddy laughs with his mouth  
Sa-mekh laughs with his eyes  
On my birthday Daddy and Sa-mekh  
Gave me ten toys to play  
I have fun so so so much  
When Daddy and Sa-mekh play with me  
Daddy is a captain  
Sa-mekh is a commander  
Many people listen to them but  
Daddy says I listen best  
Sa-mekh says I am science smart  
When things go wrong  
Daddy makes me happy with a song  
When I cry  
Sa-mekh makes my sad go bye  
I have the best Daddy and Sa-mekh  
In the universe!

("Oh my god. Look at this, Spock. Our baby girl wrote this for us."

"She has written Daddy in blue crayon and Sa-mekh in green."

"I know! Isn't that cute? She's not even four years old yet and she _wrote_ this!"

"Jim, while it is the norm for Vulcan children at her age to be studying visual mathematics and basic calculations – as she is now under my tutelage and Zaras' – I must acknowledge that the creative arts have largely been neglected in Vulcan education."

"You mean _completely_ neglected."

"Yes, Jim."

"Well, _our_ baby is gonna get just as much education in the arts!"

"Yes, Jim."

"If she wants to doodle and paint, she can do that as much as she wants!"

"Yes, Jim."

"And if she wants to write poetry and stories, she can do that as much as she wants too."

"Yes, Jim."

"And if she ends up a painter or a poet, we're gonna support her all the way because we love her no matter what job she chooses to do."

"Yes, Jim."

"Are you making fun of me, Spock?"

"No, ashayam. I am in total agreement with you. As I mentioned, the creative arts are neglected in Vulcan education, superseded by the sciences. While I do not as yet have the necessary information for an accurate calculation, I am already at least 99% certain that I am the only Vulcan father in current existence to receive a heartfelt, handwritten poem of love from his child."

" _Aw_ – … oh my god. That's true, isn't it? So not only did she write poetry when other Vulcan kids would never have, she did something that no other _Vulcan_ has. Well, yeah, as far as you know. But still! Wow."

"Indeed, our ko-fu is unique."

"Just like you."

"Now that T'Aman exists, that statement is no longer true."

"That's bull and you know it."

"I do not understand how an Earth uncastrated male bovine animal is associated with our current conversation."

"Don't gimme that _innocent_ face, Mister Spock. You know exactly what I mean."

"Jim. Regardless of how my genetics and biology define me, I am grateful for our daughter's existence and love. And for yours."

"Oh, I see. This is 'Make Jim Drown in Feels' Night."

"I was unaware there is such a night, or that it is possible for one to 'drown in feels'."

"Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"Stop looking at me with those big puppy dog eyes and make love to me already."

"Yes, Jim. It would be my utmost pleasure.")


	10. Meanwhile, on The Spockian Brigade Forum ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This 'excerpt from a forum thread' is set pretty much any time between Jim setting up the Spockian Brigade online forum on the Galactic Computer Network and Jim's Omega status (and thus his romantic/sexual relationship with Spock) becoming public news. 
> 
> **SpocksAshayam4eva** – Jim (who knows Spock is on the forum)
> 
>  **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** – Spock (who suspects which member Jim is, but doesn't know about Bones being a member too)
> 
>  **Spockismine** – Bones (who knows both guys' identities thanks to Jim but neither of them know about him being a member, yet)
> 
> The other members are just random people. (Or _are_ they?)

**Subject** : **Show your Love for the most badass Vulcan ever!!!**

 **Baballusa** : OK guys, here's the new mega-thread for everyone to post how much you love the one and only Spock of the USS Enterprise! <3 We're at thread 89 already!!

 **Taros923** : His ears are so sexy like, they do funny things to my intestines. is anyone else like that?

 **MimiZephyr** : ME. I had no idea how HOT Vulcans are until I saw all those holovideos about him and his captain. Rrraaawwrrrr.

 **Taros923** : Omigod yes I know exactly what you mean, Captain Kirk is sooooo hot too. *_*

 **MimiZephyr** : I know, right? Did you see the interview vid of them in those gray uniforms? They were sitting side by side and I swear Spock almost SMILED at Kirk when they looked at each other AAAAHHHHH

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Hey, I love Spock as much as the next person but I also know … Vulcans do not smile.

 **MimiZephyr** : That's what YOU think! But I think Vulcans DO smile. They just don't show it on their faces. They show it in their eyes. Eyes = windows to the soul.

 **Hogguen00101** : I would bet my left nut that they're screwing each other.

 **EnanofPrime** : There are 10 new artworks in the art sub of them kissing. Of course you gotta go to the /other/ forum for the /good/ stuff hehehehe

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : I really like the ones by RedRoguen. She captures the dark shades of Spock's hair and eyes so well. Almost like the real thing!

 **EnanofPrime** : Yeah they're great! I like the way she draws Captain Kirk's eyes and lips. I've saved all her work. Even the /really/ kinky ones hehe

 **Glahrnow** : COME ON Everyone knows Kirk is a ladies man! If you guys knew him in the Academy you'd know he's straight and not gay There are no gay Vulcans either! Spock isn't gay! Stop forcing your icky fantasies on them

 **Baballusa** : Just because you think that doesn't mean that's true. How do you know there are no gay Vulcans?? We barely know anything about them. What's wrong with Spock or Kirk being gay anyway? I can't believe we're still fighting over sexuality in the 23rd century!

 **Glahrnow** : Why are you guys so obsessed with them having sex with each other! It's not like they'll ever have sex with YOU

 **MimiZephyr** : Has it occurred to you that maybe we care about them LOVING each other? Why do YOU think all we care about is sex?

 **Glahrnow** : Look at the 'art' you guys make of them! Don't tell me you care about love when all you guys draw is them having SEX with each other

 **Taros923** : Pleaaaase stop it guys, we're here to show our love for Spock. why do we have to argue about this again :(

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : I agree, Baballusa, MimiZephyr and Taros923. There's so much we still don't know about Vulcans. They're a very private people and we should all respect that. Does it _really_ matter whether Kirk and Spock are gay or not? I think the important thing is that they really care for and respect each other regardless of whether they're lovers or not.

 **Baballusa** : Agreed! <3 You always say the right things, SpocksAshayam4eva.

 **Taros923** : Agreed x infinity :D

 **Hogguen00101** : Uh, Glahrnow, question for you – if you hate the thought of Kirk and Spock being gay, in love and having sex so much … why are you looking at art of them doing all that? And why do you always show up every time people talk about Kirk and Spock being gay, in love and having sex?

 **MimiZephyr** : LOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLL

 **EnanofPrime** : Hahahahaha

 **Baballusa** : Good point, Hogguen00101!

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : I am in agreement with SpocksAshayam4eva about respecting the privacy of Vulcans and what is important about their relationship in the public eye. However, I must also reiterate the importance of not focusing on Commander Spock for he is merely a Vulcan in Starfleet who earned his rank like every other cadet, no matter their species and place of birth. Nothing more.

 **EnanOfPrime** : Oh boy here comes the Spock-hating troll /again/.

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : I am not a 'Spock-hating troll'. Please desist with this inaccurate description. A troll is a mythical creature of Earth folklore while I am a real person who does not hate Spock. That action is in itself illogical. I am simply pointing out the absurdity of glorifying him to a perturbing, deity-like status for deeds that have been far superseded by those of Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Well, this _is_ the Spock Love thread. This whole _forum_ is dedicated to Spock! We're the Spockian Brigade. Loving Spock is what we do here.

 **Baballusa** : Exactly, SpocksAshayam4eva. <3

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : It is still illogical and a waste of time and effort better spent to honor the captain of the Enterprise instead.

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Kirk? Nah, that guy's a doofus. Sure, he's saved Earth a few times but he's still a doofus compared to Spock who's a _million_ times better.

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : I vehemently disagree. Captain Kirk is not a 'doofus'. He is the exemplar of a Human. As you have mentioned, he has saved Earth and its people from annihilation twice. He has laid down his life for others more times than most beings in this universe would ever dare to do. Spock, on the other hand, has not. In fact, he owes more than he can ever repay to Captain Kirk for everything that he has now.

 **MimiZephyr** : How do you know that? You sound like you KNOW Spock. Do you???

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : I think you got it totally the other way around. I think _Kirk_ is the one who owes more than he can ever repay to Spock for everything that _he_ has now. I guess we're gonna have to agree to disagree, Sfekalik. Spock will always be #1 to me.

 **Taros923** : Heeeeey SpocksAshayam4eva I always wanted to ask, what does ashayam mean? :)

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Oh, I learned a few years ago that it means 'beloved' in Vulcan.

 **Taros923** : Awww so that means you're Spock's beloved forever? ;)

 **Spockismine** : Wrong. Because Spock is MINE.

 **Hogguen00101** : Cat fight incoming …

 **MimiZephyr** : MRROOOWWRRR! Hiss hiss.

 **EnanofPrime** : Hahahaha! Fight for your Vulcan, SpocksAshayam4eva!

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Excuse you, Spockismine, but Spock? Spock is _MINE_.

 **Spockismine** : You keep telling yourself that, darling. He and I are in love and there's nothing anybody can do to stop our love.

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Oh yeah? Prove it.

 **Spockismine** : I know that Spock has a borderline fetish for BLUE.

 **Taros923** : Omigod :o what do you mean, fetish for blue

 **Baballusa** : Spock's favorite color is blue???

 **Taros923** : Omigooood isn't the Starfleet science color blue!

 **MimiZephyr** : KIRK HAS BLUE EYES AAAAHHHHHHHHHH

 **Spockismine** : See? Do y'all think I'd know that if he and I weren't in love, hmmm?

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : … Okay, I gotta admit, I have also heard that Spock has a thing for blue. But no! That doesn't prove anything about you! lol

 **MimiZephyr** : Damn it did they run away I want to know more juicy stuff about Spock LOOOOLLLL

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : Vulcans do not have a favorite color.

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : But does _Spock_ have a favorite color?

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : No. However, based on my extensive knowledge of Vulcans and their culture, it is not absurd at all to conjecture that Spock may very well have a favorite person.

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Like … an ashayam?

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : Ha.

 **Hogguen00101** : Have you two considered getting a room?

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : You know, Hogguen, that's a great idea.

 **Sfekalik-Kaluklar** : What is the purpose of getting a room?

 **SpocksAshayam4eva** : Don't worry, Sfekalik. I'll show you why soon enough. ;D


	11. I Am Happy When You Are Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, we have had Jim playing with his sweet, little baby girl. What is playtime with baby like through Spock's eyes?
> 
> This takes place about a few weeks before the Enterprise resumes its five-year mission of exploration.
> 
> P.S. I promise the next update will be very much a NSFW one for a change!

Jim is … nibbling on their five-month-old daughter again.

"Who's a tasty little fluffy puff? _You_ are! Yes, you!"

Seated at the round dining table with a stack of PADDs and attired in a long-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans, Spock silently observes his Human mate laughing heartily with T'Aman. They are sprawled on the carpeted floor nearby. Jim, in a faded-gray t-shirt and sweatpants, is on his belly with his legs slightly spread, his upper body propped up on elbows. T'Aman, in a rainbow-colored onesie, lies on her back and stretches one chunky arm towards Jim's flushed, smile-illumed face.

"You want another nibble attack, hm? You want another nibble-nibble?"

Jim's meteor-bright blue eyes widen comically as he opens his mouth. Curiously, Jim does nothing else and appears frozen in place as he stares down with his mouth still open at T'Aman. Even more curiously, T'Aman finds this very amusing, giggling once more and kicking her bare, chubby legs. She exudes unreserved waves of warmth and happiness at her parents through their familial bonds.

T'Aman is anticipating Jim's next nibble attack. Although Jim has yet to actually inflict it, T'Aman is already reacting as if Jim is, her excitement building the longer Jim postpones the nibble attack.

Curious, indeed.

Spock tilts his head as Jim suddenly swoops down and nibbles their squealing daughter's leg with lips pulled over teeth. After Jim has nibbled her tiny toes, he laughs with her, kicking his own legs against the floor with joy. Jim is behaving very much like a playful child himself. Jim is utterly at ease with himself and his environment, free from any pain or sorrow. In their shared mindspace, Jim is a blazing star in a pellucid sky that hovers over the immeasurable green-leafed, purple-trunked forest that is Spock. It is how Spock wishes Jim can be always.

Jim's next nibble attack targets T'Aman's plump, green-tinged cheeks, forehead and Vulcan ears. She laughs that tinkling bell-like belly laugh so hard that her eyes – so much like her Daddy's – are squeezed shut and her arms flail in the air. Jim laughs just as hard with her once this attack is over. Jim rolls onto his back next to T'Aman as he does so, apparently too tired from mirth to stay upright anymore.

Spock's eyes crease along their edges. He slowly stands and saunters from the dining table and its stack of PADDs (brimming with teaching plans and notes and assignments to be graded) to kneel on the floor with his little family. Jim is propped up on one elbow and lounging on his side facing T'Aman and Spock by the time Spock settles with his lower legs and feet tucked underneath hm.

"Look, sugar-bug, Sa-mekh wants to play too!"

Jim grins at him when he raises one eyebrow at his mischievous mate.

"Vulcans do not play," he says solemnly, his hands resting flat upon his thighs, his spine straight.

The increase of the crinkling of his eyes has no relevance whatsoever to the situation at hand.

Jim dips his head down towards T'Aman. With a deadpan expression, he stage-whispers to her, "I think what Sa-mekh _really_ means is that Vulcans _don't know_ how to play."

T'Aman lets out a gurgle that sounds both inquisitive and confused.

Spock's spine straightens even more.

"That is untrue," Spock says, and no, there isn't a trace of pomposity in his voice in any way.

Jim returns to his previous pose of propping his head on one hand. Jim gazes at Spock with that deadpan expression that somehow manages to also be challenging, saying nothing with his pressed lips but everything with those heavy-lidded eyes.

Spock, in turn, does not lift his head higher in any way. Not at all.

Spock bows his head to gaze at their daughter. He then tilts his head at her, and misses the sight of Jim's deadpan face cracking into a momentary smile before Jim sucks in both lips to keep quiet. T'Aman gazes back at her Sa-mekh with twinkling eyes while furling and unfurling her hands in fists.

Without glancing away from T'Aman, Spock bends forward and presses his hands flat on the floor in front of him. Supported by his arms, he slowly bends down and covers his teeth with his lips like Jim did, targeting T'Aman's nearest arm. He cautiously clamps his lips around T'Aman's chunky forearm. He maintains his position and grip on her arm even as she squeals again and thrashes her free arm and legs. He can feel her captured arm attempting to move as well, its developing muscles tensing beneath a thick, insulating layer of baby fat.

His lips are still clinched around T'Aman's forearm when he glances up and realizes that Jim is laughing so hard that his laughter is soundless. Jim is rolling on the floor from side to side, his appealing face beet-red and scrunched.

Spock releases T'Aman's arm to say, "Jim, her skin is still very soft and smooth, and the amount of fat on her arm is consistent with her age and health."

Jim simply laughs harder and weakly slaps the floor with one hand.

"Oh my god ... oh my god, Spock," Jim croaks out when he is able to between audible chuckles, blinking tears away, "Spock, that's ... not how -" Jim draws in a deep and noisy breath, rolls back onto his belly and elbows then says, "You're not supposed to _analyze_ it! You're supposed to just, ya know, _enjoy_ it. Just play and enjoy the _feelings_."

Spock sits back onto his heels and rests his hands upon his thighs once more. He gazes at Jim with a slightly furrowed brow. He tilts his head at an angle yet another time and yes, there is that gleam of amusement and affection in Jim's crinkled eyes at the action.

"You nibble her because the action and its resulting sensations cause her to laugh," Spock murmurs.

Jim's lips curve up into yet another endearing smile.

"Yeah," Jim murmurs in return, waving one hand about in the air between them. "It makes her happy. And I'm happy when she's happy."

Spock stares at his beloved bondmate for several seconds, basking in the simple logic of Jim's statements. Then, without a word, he leans forward on his hands again over their baby daughter and cautiously clamps his lip-covered teeth around Jim's forearm. As expected, Jim bursts out laughing once again but doesn't tug his arm away. T'Aman gurgles with a broad smile and stamps her feet on the carpeted floor.

T'Aman is laughing and she is happy. Jim is laughing too. Jim is happy too.

"Are you happy, Spock?" Jim asks later, after they've bundled T'Aman back into her crib for her afternoon nap and are snuggling on their own bed on top of the covers.

Spock turns his head on the pillow to gaze at his bondmate who is tucked against his side and in the cradle of his arm. Jim rests a head of golden hair upon his shoulder and gazes back at him with crinkled, sun-bright eyes. Jim languidly caresses his flank with one hand, over his beating heart.

"Ha, ashayam," Spock whispers forthrightly, touching their foreheads together, his own eyes crinkled. "Isha nash-veh kunli."

 _Yes, beloved. I, too, am happy_.


	12. The Third Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim experiences his third heat as Spock's mate. What is this like through Spock's perspective?
> 
> This takes place a few months after the Enterprise's five-year mission of exploration has ended, on New Vulcan. 
> 
> (Damnit, I really wanted to finish this update in time for Valentine's Day. But hey, on the upside, finishing the update late means y'all are getting _more_ porn than originally planned! That's right, this update is so NSFW that I highly recommend not reading this in public, haha. There are more notes that are spoilerish at the end for potentially triggering stuff, but if the new tags I've added don't faze ya, it's all good.)

Like Jim had instructed him, Spock is attired in his black silk pajamas. It is an outfit that Jim still finds acutely attractive after seeing him in it for the first time in Jim's quarters on board the Enterprise 4.3 years ago. Its long-sleeved tunic belted at the waist and loose, long pants have softened even more with time and frequent usage.

Spock adjusts the wide v-collar of his tunic while he stands before the shut door of the bedroom he shares with Jim. He knows how fond his Human bondmate is of his broad, hirsute chest. He knows that Jim will have the mind to appreciate the sight and sensation of it even in the throes of a heat.

Alone in the carpeted hallway, Spock allows himself to draw in one audible breath and then release it in a soundless sigh. Jim, an Omega, has undergone two heats since their experience on the X'chigaris' planet and even now, Spock is unable to curb the thundering surge of lust in him that causes his fingers to twitch and his belly to clench.

Jim's first heat after T'Aman's birth had occurred on board the Enterprise during a fortuitous lull in the ship's activity, 2.2 years into the ship's resumed mission of exploration. Hikaru had become acting captain with Nyota as second in command while he and Jim dealt with the thankfully brief heat in their quarters. Leonard had later apologized to them in his office in sickbay, citing a defect in the new heat suppressant and contraceptive that he'd administered to Jim. Leonard later procured a different heat suppressant and contraceptive during a sojourn at a Federation starbase, one that required Jim to receive a shot every two months. Surprisingly, Jim was pleased with this.

 _Yeah, the old one I got annually was more convenient but it meant I had to wait at least a year after a shot before getting heats again. With this one, all I have to do is not get the next shot and wait a week or so for the stuff to get flushed out of my system_ , Jim had said to him after receiving one of those shots in sickbay. _It's nice to have more control over that_.

Spock had noted that Jim did not mention anything about contraception and fertility. Spock brought up the issues after the second heat that occurred again on board the Enterprise a year later, although this time Jim had skipped a shot to coincide his heat with the ship's layover at a pleasure planet. Their incredible, tried-and-true crew had certainly appreciated the vacation and Jim's chosen location for it.

(No one heard from Leonard for three days. When Leonard finally returned to the ship, he wore, as Jim would say, a grin a mile wide and torn clothing and what appeared to be countless small bruises all over his neck and exposed chest. Jim gave him two enthusiastic high-fives and exuberant congratulations over 'a night of acrobatic, eye-popping hubba-hubba with twin Orion women'. Spock is still unsure what precisely 'hubba-hubba' is and thinks it is probably wise to not ask Jim for details that, as Jim would also say, will be burnt on his brain forever.)

 _I'm still taking contraceptives_ , Jim murmured to him while they reclined under the covers in cozy darkness in their quarters. _I definitely don't wanna get pregnant again until the mission's over. But after that_ -

Jim went silent, gently stroking the dark curls upon his chest with one hand, nestling that pulchritudinous face against his neck.

 _Do you wish_ , Spock had asked, _to have a second child, Jim_?

Jim had curled closer to his body and whispered against the skin of his shoulder, _I just think maybe T'Aman may like a baby brother or sister one day_.

And Spock, being the wise Vulcan that he was (and still is), had heard the words Jim did not dare say. Not yet.

For this third heat, in the refuge of their new home on New Vulcan, Jim has foregone all heat suppressants and contraceptives. It was a mutual decision made two months ago after they disembarked from the Enterprise with T'Aman. It was not an easy one, with both of them knowing that having a second child means one of them will have to stay on New Vulcan with their children if the other remains active in Starfleet. Jim had surprised Spock once more by deciding to step down as captain instead of advancing to the rank of admiral.

 _Spock, I've done more than most of the admirals in the fleet have in their entire lives_ , Jim had said matter-of-fact. _And that was_ before _I became a captain. I think I'm ready for some downtime with my family, you know_?

Spock remembers the light in Jim's meteor-bright blue eyes when he had said _family_. Spock remembers the contented smile spreading across Jim's face when they stood in front of their new abode, their new home on a hill surrounded by towering, leafy trees for the first time. Spock remembers the buoyant laugh that burst from Jim's mouth when he plucked their grinning daughter up by the arms from the ground and swung her around and round on their new grassy front yard.

Spock remembers the bobbing of Jim's bare throat, the tightness of Jim's arms around his torso and the warmth of Jim's head upon his chest when he had said to Jim, _yes, ashayam, I would like our daughter to have a baby brother or sister too_.

Most of all, he remembers Jim's confession five nights later. He remembers all the things that Jim said about his upcoming heat, all the things that Jim wanted them to do, to _be_.

 _It's not that I want you to_ hurt _me_ , Jim had said to him on their made bed, with Jim sitting crossed-legged and fidgeting while Spock sat propped against the bed's headboard. _It's that I want you to … take control from me. Take control_ of _me. Okay_?

He had gazed at Jim silently for four seconds, sensing the waves of anxiety from Jim through their bond. Jim in turn could sense that he was not rejecting Jim's ideas and was contemplating on them.

 _You have placed_ _much faith in me_ , he replied softly, humbled that his mate trusted him enough to share these fantasies with him despite fearing dismissal. _I do not wish to disappoint you_.

The tension in Jim's hunched shoulders had immediately abated. Jim's wringing hands upon his lap stilled and relaxed. Jim had glanced hard at him. Then, when Jim saw and _knew_ that he was willing to comply with Jim's wishes, Jim smiled that blinding, pearly smile at him and crawled over to him to kiss him on the lips and curl up against his side.

 _You won't, babe_ , Jim murmured into his ear. _I know you'll put all your heart in it, like you do everything else_.

They'd then discussed the roles they will play. The limits of their actions towards each other while in their roles. Safewords in (the very unlikely) case of something going wrong. Hand signals in case speech is impossible or undesired as a means of communication. As the last resort, mental signals through their bond that they will deliberately shield until the … main event.

Jim had an obvious erection tenting his sweatpants by the conclusion of their discussion. So did Spock. That, more than anything else, was what convinced Spock that both of them will _relish_ Jim's heat like never before.

And now, here he stands before the shut door of the bedroom he shares with Jim, ready to don the persona they'd defined and refined throughout their discussions. When he strides into the room, he will no longer be the Spock that Jim knows. Jim will no longer be the Jim he knows.

There is an 86.251% chance that when this day is over, neither he or Jim will ever be the same again.

Spock wraps his hand around the door's metallic, round knob. He grits his teeth. He hardens his expression into one of casual arrogance and authority.

 _Show time, babe_.

Spock flings the door wide open and steps into the room an imperious, impatient Vulcan lord of pre-Surak times who is beholding his latest acquisition from the slave markets of Gol at last. The slam of the door behind him awakens his slumbering, insolent acquisition with a full-body jolt on his vast bed of red-and-gold silken covers and plush pillows.

He saunters the perimeter of the bed with his hands behind his back as he scrutinizes the naked, kneeling golden-haired Human who stares back at him with large blue eyes as vivid as meteors. The Human is a truly exquisite creature, muscular and yet lean, with sun-kissed, smooth skin marred only by a few scars on the lower back and on the left thigh. The Human is flushed, particularly on the face and neck. Despite the room's coolness, the Human is also sweating, as if he is enclosed by flames. Or perhaps, burning from the inside out by flames _in_ him.

Yes, the slave trader did state that this Human is a male Omega entering a heat, soon to become a lust-ridden, sensual creature begging to be bred and broken. Male Omegas are the most prized pleasure slaves in the market for exactly this reason.

When Spock steps nearer to the bed, he notices an aromatic scent in the air akin to … caramel. Petrichor. Freshly cut grass. Sunshine. He breathes it in deeply through his nose, lifting his chin and closing his eyes for a moment. Ah, this must be the scent of an Omega in heat, of their slick when they're sexually stimulated. This scent is unique to this Omega. It is acceptable. Pleasant, even. (Magnificent.)

After opening his eyes to look at the Human again, he sees that the Human has scrambled backward on the bed, facing him with long, lean legs folded up defensively in front of a firm, hairless chest and a flat belly. A belly that has distinct, dull stretchmarks.

Indeed, as the slave trader also stated, this is a _fertile_ male Omega who has borne a child before.

"Nam-tor aitlu tu ra?!" the Human exclaims with a scowl. _What do you want_?!

Spock raises one eyebrow at the Human's audacity to speak to him that way. He will punish the Human for that soon enough. Still, he is impressed by the Human's ability to speak Vulcan at all. He gazes down his prominent nose at his slave with appraising eyes, ogling the Human from that full head of short, golden hair down that scowling yet still alluring face then down that well-proportioned torso to … ah, an unmistakable erection slapped upon the Human's heaving belly.

Spock lets his eyes linger on the Human's reddened penis. He is inwardly gratified when white pre-ejaculate oozes out of its rounded head and slides down its veined, rigid length.

"Du," Spock answers the Human with a very low, resonant voice. _You_.

The Human's eyes go stark, as if his voice had struck the Human like a massive wave of sensation and sent the poor creature reeling with shock. He is unsurprised by this for even other Vulcans have commented on the agreeable resonance and weight of his voice.

In a flash, he has taken advantage of the Human's emotional weakness and hesitance. He looms over his slave while constraining the Human's forearms to the bed with iron-strong hands. The Human thrashes under him with a spine-tingling violence that merely increases his gratification, that sends his blood rushing to his rapidly hardening penis. The Human's scent is even more delectable to inhale this close, like a heady drug that sharpens all his senses to near-painful clarity, like intoxicating, sweet t'mara omi that strips him of his inhibitions. The Human yells and tries to break free of his grip by bucking up and kicking him, but he is Vulcan and he is at least three times stronger than the Human. His arms scarcely move as he also constrains the Human's legs with his own.

"Rai!" the Human shouts. _No_!

Spock dips his head, staring unblinkingly at the Human who glares up at him with those riveting, brilliant blue eyes and pants from futile exertion.

"Ha," he replies calmly, breathing slow and easy. _Yes_.

Having anticipated the Human's physical response to that, Spock braces himself as the Human bucks once more and tries to free his trapped limbs. The Human's muscled torso twists and undulates so gracefully, so enticingly before his eyes. The Human is even more flushed now, fascinatingly red instead of green. (Unlike the copper blood of his people, he is aware that Humans have iron blood with red blood cells instead.) The Human is panting noisily.

" _Rai_!"

Spock almost lets out a grunt when the Human succeeds in extricating himself from Spock's grip by freeing one leg and giving a robust kick to his left thigh. He is stunned by this, enough that the Human manages to scurry across the bed before Spock lunges forward to seize the Human by the hair. The Human roars again when he also grabs the Human by the waist and hauls the writhing creature back under him. He easily flips the Human over onto an arching spine on the bed and then lays himself on top of the Human.

The Human bares white, straight teeth at him in a snarl. He almost allows the tips of his lips to curl up when the Human's still very stiff penis rubs against the black silk of his outfit and the Human whines low at the contact. He winds his fingers into thick, golden hair and yanks back the Human's head to expose a long, vulnerable throat.

"Ahm t'du," Spock says, still calmly, still breathing slow and easy. _Your name_.

In brazen defiance, the Human averts that handsome face from him, refusing to look at him. It is an act that Spock will not tolerate from another Vulcan, much less a Human _slave_. He tightens his fingers in the Human's hair and forces the impertinent creature to face him again, jerking his slave's head and baring that long throat more.

"Var-tor n'nash-veh ahm t'du, kafeh!" Spock growls. _Tell me your name, slave_!

The Human is beautiful even in rage, like a young and wild le-matya, or a feral sehlat on the hunt. The Human's breaths have become ragged, searing against his face like sunlight.

"Nam-tor ri kafeh!" the Human spits at him. _I am no slave_!

Spock raises an eyebrow again, effortlessly holding down the Human's right arm onto the bed with his other hand. Other Vulcan lords would have whipped this _insolent_ slave by now with an ahn-woon. Or chained him in a cell. Or hung him out to bake under the noon sun in the desert. But Spock is not like other Vulcan lords. He'd purchased this slave specifically because of the Human's blatant disobedience and rebelliousness.

A slave like this will be all the more satisfying to breed and _break_.

Spock releases the Human's hair just in time to capture the Human's other arm before he can be struck on the head with a fist. His slave is swift and agile, yes, but not swift and agile enough. Unlike him, the Human is panting once more, more flushed than ever, streaked with sweat. Spock lifts himself up so he can see the Human's lower body and between the Human's thighs. The Human's penis has become redder, thicker with blood. It is constantly producing pre-ejaculate that now pools on that flat, stretchmarked belly. The Human's inner thighs are coated with a translucent, viscous secretion that must be Omega slick.

The Omega is undoubtedly in heat now.

The Human cries out when Spock releases his arms to grab him by the back of his knees instead. Spock shoves the Human's legs up and wide apart, exposing his slave's nether regions to his sight. His eyes hone on the Omega's dark pink, fluttering hole. As he stares, fresh slick gushes out of it, running down trembling, flushed skin in rivulets.

Soon, he will be sheathed in that hot, _tight_ space. Soon, he will be the master of this insolent, _exquisite_ creature in all ways.

Spock runs his tongue along his lower lip. He hears the Human gasp aloud, and he raises his head to gaze hard at his slave, so beguiling on the red-and-gold covers of his bed. The human is now staring at him with round, gleaming eyes and parted, swollen lips.

" _Ahm t'du_ ," Spock demands a second time, his voice even lower, even fiercer.

The Human's throat works in a long, visible swallow. The Human licks those full, glistening lips that Spock desires to lick and _bite_.

"Jim," the Human whispers.

Spock's fingers squeeze around the Human's tense, warm flesh in his grip. He continues to hold the Omega's bent legs up in the air as he stares back at his slave.

"Jim," he says, feeling the peculiar yet apt name fill his mouth and then emerge from it through his lower, fiercer voice.

Perhaps the Omega's heat is infectious, for he feels heat glutting his lower belly and groin as the Omega moans in reaction, as if the very utterance of that Human name by _him_ is _stimulating_ the Human. He will keep this advantage in mind in their future copulations. It will serve him well to be able to affect this slave so dramatically with a mere name.

He releases one of the Human's – one of _Jim's_ thighs to stroke Jim's slick hole with his fingers. Jim cries out and bucks yet again, but Spock pushes Jim's other leg against Jim's chest and still effortlessly holds the Human down on the bed.

He slides three fingers into Jim's slick, snug hole without any warning. He watches Jim's hole stretch around the width of fingers. He watches Jim arch off the red-and-gold covers with eyes and mouth popped open wide. He watches Jim claw at the covers with both hands as he twists his fingers inside the Human and finds that small, bumpy organ with the pads of his fingers.

Massaging the organ – the prostate, as it is called in Human biology – causes Jim to let out a long, high-pitched moan and _constrict_ around his fingers. Spock sucks in a harsh breath through his nose. Jim's titillating scent suffuses his nostrils and throat and lungs, especially when more slick oozes out of Jim's quivering hole and between his squeezed fingers. In the loose confines of his black silk pants, his rigid, double-ridged penis twitches hard.

His fingers, sensitive as they are, feel crushed by the fiery, wet pressure of Jim's contracting inner muscles. What will his penis feel like in that fiery, wet heat?

Jim tosses his golden head on silken covers and groans under Spock's relentless stimulation of his prostate. Spock spreads his fingers inside the Human, opening the slick hole up. He shivers at the pleasure that zigzags like lightning from his fingers and up his arms and neck and straight into his lit-up brain.

He presses the pads of his fingers _hard_ against Jim's prostate. He revels in Jim's sharp groan, in the bowing of Jim's back, in Jim's feet and toes curling inward, in more slick gushing from the Human's hungry hole.

"Nekhau," Spock commands loudly and clearly. _Submit_.

He watches Jim's eyelids flicker over glazed, meteor-bright blue eyes. He watches some semblance of rationality seep back into those eyes. He can pinpoint the moment that the Human realizes what he had said, what he had _ordered_.

Jim's eyes snap wide open and glare at him.

"Rai!" Jim exclaims. "Por shinsarat!" _No_! _You're out of your mind_!

Spock may not be like other Vulcan lords and he may have bought this slave for that inflaming rebelliousness, but even _his_ patience is limited. He growls audibly and bares his teeth in umbrage. He jerks his fingers out from the Human's hole and ignores the Human's hoarse gasp.

"Fa-wak tor du ra karthau!" _You will do what I command_!

He whips out his right hand and seizes his Human slave around the neck. His hand is large enough that he can _squeeze_ it and instantaneously cut off the Human's air supply.

Jim writhes in his grip. Jim kicks at his legs. Jim begins to make choking noises. To suffocate.

Jim is … Jim is dying. Jim is -

Spock's eyes widen, but instead of red-and-gold silken covers, he sees one of the consoles of the Enterprise's bridge under Jim. He sees his hand wrapped around Jim's neck, _crushing_ the very life out of the Human who would become one of the most precious, irreplaceable people in his existence. Everything he sees and hears and smells is red. He hears Jim choke and cough and gasp, and he cannot let go, he cannot let go, he – he is overwhelmed, he is killing Jim and he cannot stop, _he_ -

He senses a distinctive, timed sensation of his forearm being squeezed by warm, strong fingers.

He blinks hard, then again. The console is gone. Jim is sprawled on red-and-gold silken covers once more. Jim is gazing up at him with focused, fond eyes from a flushed, sweat-dotted face. Their eyes lock as Jim squeezes his forearm again. Once, then a second time, each squeeze a calculated second long.

It is … it is the hand signal they had established will signify that all things are well, that the scene can continue without interruption. Jim is not hurt. Jim is all right. Jim _wants_ this.

Spock realizes only now that Jim is breathing without difficulty despite his hand around Jim's neck. He had not squeezed as earnestly as he thought. He gazes back into Jim's eyes and they say to him, _I love you, I love you so much, you're doing so great, keep going, keep going_.

He gives Jim's neck two gentle, timed squeezes in return.

Jim's lips curve up in a fleeting albeit genuine, affectionate smile.

Then, Jim is frenziedly thrashing under him, arching that elegant back as high as it can go, kicking at him with both legs while grabbing his forearm with both hands.

"Ti'amah!" Jim yells with his eyes scrunched shut. _Let me go_!

If Spock had been himself and not in the skin of a pre-Surak Vulcan lord about to discipline and _claim_ his slave, he would not have smiled at all. His lips part to reveal his own white, straight teeth in a carnal grin. He dexterously blocks every strike of Jim's nimble, energetic arms and legs with his own. They have wrestled and trained in close combat together so many times since they became Captain and Commander of the Enterprise that they are intimately familiar with each other's fighting moves and velocities. Like him, Jim is intentionally pulling back every punch and kick, lessening any collision of limbs to mere smacks. They roll and scramble all over the bed, fighting for dominance, grunting and snarling, disheveling the covers and displacing pillows onto the polished, wooden floor.

Their battle is over in a minute, with Spock looming over Jim and pressing Jim's limbs down on the bed again. He grips Jim by the forearms and holds them down on either side of Jim's head. At this point, Jim is radiating heat like the sun, flushed from forehead to chest, his firm and hairless chest heaving from rough breaths.

"Nam-tor du kobat, t'var'eth," Spock says. _You are weak, whelp_.

With his arms spread and held apart like they are, Jim's chest is fully bared to Spock. Still gripping Jim's forearms, Spock swoops down to Jim's right nipple and licks the distended, dark pink flesh. Jim – his Human _slave_ – lets out a piercing moan and wriggles helplessly on the bed while Spock licks the nipple again and its surrounding skin and then sucks on it. He had been informed by other Vulcan lords with Omega pleasure slaves that in heat, an Omega's nipples are extremely sensitive erogenous zones along with their neck, in particular the nape. He is pleased that his slave proves this true.

"Sp-" Jim cuts himself off in time. Then he cries out, "Bath'paik!" _Damn you_!

Spock disregards the curse and continues to lave the Human's nipples with his tongue and suck on them. When he bites one of them, just enough to sting but not hurt, Jim stiffens and quavers in place. Spock instinctively reaches down with his right hand and grasps Jim's erection at its base, halting what would have been Jim's first orgasm of the day. Jim groans low and squirms as much as he can in Spock's adamant grip. From his stretched, slick hole, more slick gushes out onto Jim's inner thighs and the bed covers.

"Nam'uh hayal," Spock says. _Calm down_.

Again, as if floating out of a dream or a daze, Jim blinks the glaze away from his eyes and stares up at Spock. The Human blinks a second time. Spock is prepared for the Human to fight him again and so employs his mental capabilities to do what this Human will surely not anticipate.

He releases Jim's penis as well as Jim's right arm. When Jim attempts to move his arms, however, they remain where they are, secured in place by an invisible force. Jim makes a noise of confusion, frowning and glancing from side to side at his imprisoned arms. He makes a noise of surprise next when Spock moves his arms higher up the bed and over his head to cross at the wrists, his meteor-bright blue eyes widening and his jaw sagging.

"V-vesht tor du ish uf?" Jim stammers. _H-how did you do that_?

Spock knows that Jim's shock is genuine. Although they had discussed mild bondage as one of the activities for this scene, Spock had not told Jim how he will execute it, nor has he told Jim about the full extent of his mental capabilities. Until today, his telekinesis – meager as it is compared to his telepathic abilities – was known only to him and his parents. When it manifested itself at the age of eleven, he was in the kitchen helping his mother to prepare vash g'ralth. His mother had been slicing pickled, purple fori with a new kitchen knife and chatting with him about traveling to Shi'Kahr soon. The knife had slipped. Had it not been for his telekinesis, at least two of his mother's fingers would have been grievously wounded.

He and his parents had mutually agreed to keep it a secret. Their reasoning had been that since no other Vulcan was recorded to have telekinesis, Spock would surely be examined – or worse, experimented on – by scientists due to his half-Human heritage and the medical intervention required for his conception. Neither his father or mother wished for him to be subjected to such treatment. They wished for him to have a normal Vulcan life, as free as possible from discrimination.

Of course, the following years would demonstrate to Spock and his parents just how liable Vulcans can also be to prejudice and xenophobia. Spock had been relieved that his telekinesis was a secret and not another excuse to be branded an 'aberration of nature' by his own people.

Now, only he and his father know of his telekinesis and the extent of it. In time, after today, so will Jim.

Jim, his friend, his best friend. His brother in arms. His life-long companion. His lover. His soulmate and the father of their little daughter. His cherished t'hai'la.

Jim, who is in this moment the captured Human slave to his pre-Surak Vulcan lord _aching_ to claim what is rightfully his.

Spock rests his hands flat on either side of Jim's naked torso and looms over the trembling, flushed Omega.

"Kiv tehnau fa-wak va'ashiv, zarahk-tor nash-veh du," Spock says, lifting one hand to Jim's warm cheek and caressing it with the back of his fingers. _If you resist again, I will shatter you_.

Jim gasps against his fingers. He sees the Human's hands clench into fists above that golden head upon the red-and-gold covers. The Omega's scent thickens in the air as more slick seeps from that open, beckoning hole.

Spock retreats from the Human to stand tall and proud beside the bed. He releases the now docile Human from his mental grip.

"Gluvaya!" he commands fervently. "Gluvaya shal t'du n'nash-veh!" _Present_! _Present_ _yourself to me_!

Jim slowly shuts those meteor-bright blue eyes. Jim's long, lean limbs slowly draw close to that muscular, sun-kissed body before Jim rolls over onto his belly. Jim is now in the same position he'd been when Spock entered the room: curled into a ball with his legs tucked beneath him, his arms also bent but forearms resting parallel to his hunched torso. Jim's head is turned to one side and Spock can see Jim's face from where he stands.

Slowly but so sublimely, Jim stretches both arms across the red-and-gold covers until they're straightened out and parallel to each other above his head, pointing in the opposite direction from Spock. Jim is now in a prostrate pose, as if worshiping a deity. Spock's mouth goes dry as his wide eyes roam along the delineated lengths of the Human's sturdy arms, across and down the sleek plains of the Human's back.

Then, slowly but so _sublimely_ , Jim arches his back and lifts his hips high into the air while pressing his chest, head and arms down flat on the bed. Spock has the perfect view of Jim's ample, slick-streaked buttocks rising up toward him like a displayed feast. Spock has to consciously maintain control of his breathing as Jim spreads his thighs to reveal that fluttering, stretched, slick-soaked hole to his gaze. Two seconds after Jim secures himself in position, a fresh flow of slick streams down his shuddering inner thighs.

"Vaksurik," Spock says with a gravelly voice. _Beautiful_.

An Omega's presenting has long been lauded by other Vulcan lords to be a divine vision to witness. There is nothing else like it, they had said, nothing more captivating than an Omega in heat unreservedly offering their body for their master's pleasure.

Spock is so hard in his long, black silk pants that his erection almost _hurts_. He has never felt lust as devastating as this before. His hands clench into fists at his sides when he hears the Human whine with elation at his approval.

"Ma n'nash-veh, Spock," he hears Jim rasp. "Nem-tor n'nash-veh." _Claim me. Take me_.

For a split second, Spock is uncertain if Jim's utterance of his name is a signal that Jim no longer wishes to role-play. They had decided that Jim the Human slave would not know Spock's name, only that Spock is to be referred to as his master. However, Jim had also explicitly stated that unless he used the agreed safeword or hand signal, the scene is to carry on until they have copulated and both of them have achieved orgasm.

To Spock's gratification, Jim rallies and clicks back into his role with a seductive sway of slim hips and one hand reaching up between those spread thighs to insert two fingers into that slick-gushing, _hungry_ hole.

"Nam-tor nash-veh eit'jaen n'du," Jim rasps with his head still turned to one side, panting once again. "B-bolau nash-veh du, trensu!" _I am begging you_. _I n-need you, master_!

Spock's self-restraint snaps.

He hastily strips his clothing off and hurls it aside onto the floor. His green-flushed, double-ridged penis smacks against his flat belly as he climbs onto the bed behind Jim. Jim lets out a strident, breathy moan when Spock's penis bumps against his upturned buttocks and then slides up and down the slick-wet crevasse between them, when Spock presses his broad, hirsute chest to Jim's back and nips at Jim's round ear.

"Mastevau k'svi ug'yel-ha'gel'es k'du, mat t'nash-veh," Spock says into Jim's ear, his lips brushing its warm, flushed rim of cartilage. "Kin-kur las'hark t'nash-veh." _I want to drown in the sunlight within_ _you, my own_. _My golden sun_.

He traces the Human's round ear with his tongue. He hums low with satisfaction at Jim begging him once more to claim him, to _take him_.

Yes, yes, he will take what is rightfully his and _his_ alone.

"Ka'i," he murmurs soothingly into the Human's ear. _I am right here_.

He feels Jim's right hand reaching back and grasping his hip after Jim pushes himself up onto both hands. He feels Jim's hand give his hip three quick squeezes, then another two quick squeezes. It's the signal for both of them to lower their mental shields. Once they do this, Jim's heat will overcome them and there will be no stopping their mating, in body or in mind.

The walls crumble to nothing as the scorching storm of Jim's heat rampages through their mental bond. Jim and Spock gasp at the same time. Spock feels his skin warming and darkening green. Spock's erection becomes even harder and thicker between Jim's buttocks, coated with fresh slick from Jim's welcoming hole. Jim's equally hard and thick erection drips viscous strings of pre-ejaculate onto the covers.

Twice Spock has experienced this mental and physical sharing of Jim's heat, and it is no less exhilarating this third time. It is as if he is in pon'farr again but with all his mental faculties intact, able to enjoy all the pleasure, to _remember_ it all. He is keenly aware of his hands grasping Jim's hips after he straightens up on his knees behind Jim, of the leaking head of his penis catching on the rim of Jim's hole and then pushing in steadily, ruthlessly.

He seizes Jim's hair with his right hand and yanks Jim's head back. Jim's back and neck bow intensely. Jim moans loudly, then again when Spock is inside Jim to the hilt, his hips colliding with Jim's buttocks. Spock closes his eyes while Jim's inner muscles contract tightly around him. This exquisite, _beautiful_ Human accepts him into that muscular, lean body as if they are made to fit each other and only each other. There is nowhere else he would rather be, no one else with whom he would rather be.

Jim babbles nonsense in Vulcan and lets out shrill cries of pleasure with every aggressive thrust of Spock's penis into his bowed, pliant body. Spock makes sure to withdraw until only the head of his penis is still inside Jim before thrusting back in, just the way Jim enjoys it. The last time they had copulated during Jim's heat, Jim had come after just four thrusts, his stamina severely depleted beforehand by Spock mercilessly sucking on his penis and stimulating his prostate while forbidding him from coming. This time, Jim lasts for seventeen fast and zealous thrusts.

It is Spock dipping down to bite Jim on the nape that propels the Human over the edge: Jim had explained in the past that for an Omega in heat, an Alpha biting them that way is identical to the Alpha declaring his desire to bond with the Omega for life. For Jim, it is an act guaranteed to make him achieve orgasm. Jim convulses under him from head to toes, tightening so much around his still thrusting penis that he moans with Jim. Jim collapses back onto his chest and head on the bed, but Spock doesn't stop impaling and filling Jim up to the hilt, jerking Jim back and forth on the bedraggled red-and-gold covers.

After another three thrusts, Spock pulls out of Jim and flips the panting, sweating, limp Human onto his back. Jim spreads those long, lean legs as wide as they can go, and Spock throws himself between them, propping his upper body up with both hands above Jim's shoulders on the bed as he shoves his erection back inside Jim's fiery, wet, _tight_ hole.

Now he can see Jim's flushed, handsome, _beloved_ face while he thrusts in and out of Jim's body, his hips slamming into Jim's buttocks. Jim is trying his best to keep his eyes open but failing. Jim's long, lush eyelashes flutter upon reddened cheeks. Jim's mouth is wide open with unbridled cries and grunts and whimpers. Jim's fingers claw at the covers, at Spock's straightened arms and hunched shoulders. Jim's penis is hardening once more on his heaving belly, dappling it with striations of white over dull stretchmarks.

{Spock! Spock! _Spock_! _SPOCK_!}

In their shared mindspace, Jim's pleas for him echo as incandescent flashes of light in a vast miasma of scalding heat. Spock has to shut his eyes again to rein himself in, to stop himself from coming just from hearing the palpable desperation in Jim's mental voice.

{Ashayam,} he says in return to his mate. {Ka'i, ka'i.}

Spock opens his eyes. While deep inside Jim, he bends down to scoop Jim's sun-hot upper body into his arms. He rolls them over so he is lying on his back with Jim on top of him. Jim still has enough presence of mind to guess what Spock wishes of him, and eagerly pushes himself upright with both hands on Spock's broad, hirsute chest. Spock is still hilt-deep inside Jim. Spock gazes into Jim's heavy-lidded eyes glazed from ecstasy and caresses Jim's athletic thighs.

"Fau-tor n'nash-veh," Spock growls, digging his fingers into Jim's thighs. _Ride me_.

A beatific smile spreads across Jim's visage. Still smiling, Jim stares back into his eyes while lifting himself off his rigid, aching penis, winding fingers into his chest hair. It is a testament to Jim's physical fitness that he can hold himself over Spock's penis without his spread thighs juddering as he then runs his fingers through Spock's chest hair.

"Glantau n'nash-veh, trensu," Jim rasps down at him. "Glantau n'nash-veh nem-tor svi'tu nash-veh." _Watch me, master. Watch me take you inside me_.

Jim's hands go flat and still on Spock's chest as he slowly lowers himself back down on Spock's erection, inch by inch. Spock watches Jim toss his head back with shut eyes and a long, fractured groan. He watches Jim's mouth fall open, watches Jim's neck arch and bare itself to Spock's hand that wraps around it. He can feel Jim's frantic, vital pulse under his palm. He can feel Jim settle on his lap, squeezing his whole length with those astounding inner muscles that compels an enraptured groan from him.

Jim responds with an aroused groan of his own. Jim constricts around him again, then sets a brutal, breathtaking pace of lifting off his penis and then slamming back down around it, crying out constantly. Spock moves his hands to Jim's chest and rubs those distended, dark pink nipples in circles with his thumbs. Jim falters for a second, biting that full, swollen lower lip and winding fingers in his chest hair again.

When Jim's thighs do begin to judder from the exertion, Spock employs his telekinesis a second time. He grasps Jim's hips in place with it, high enough in the air that only the head of his penis is still inside Jim. He continues to fondle Jim's sensitive nipples with thumbs as he takes over, exhibiting his own physical fitness to his mate by thrusting up hard into the slick, hot, tight _heaven_ of his mate's body, over and over and over.

Spock rejoices in the wail of absolute _pleasure_ that rips from Jim's arched throat. Spock is so familiar with Jim's body by now that every thrust pounds unerringly against Jim's prostate, the double ridges of his penis grinding against it in a way no Human penis ever could.

"Boshau nash-veh k'kan-bu t'du, Spock!" Jim shrieks to the ceiling. _Fill me with your baby_!

Jim's wild entreaties devolve into insensible moaning at a particularly forceful thrust. Spock breathes audibly through his nose, his teeth gritted, a muscle twitching in his lower jaw. He thrusts in as hard another time, then another, and then, his penis swells its full length deep inside Jim, filling Jim up even more and pressing incessantly upon that tender prostate.

For an Omega in heat, being knotted by an Alpha also triggers an orgasm in the Omega. For Jim, being similarly filled by Spock's entire penis is, in Jim's own words, ten times as good as being knotted by a massive Alpha cock.

"Boshau nash-veh, Spock! _Boshau nash-veh_!" _Fill me_! _FILL ME_!

Spock is finally panting himself, his chest and belly heaving as Jim comes the hardest yet today, spattering him all the way to his neck with white, thick semen. Jim's mouth is open but no sound issues from it. Jim's eyes are glistening and a tear rolls down from one of them but Jim is also smiling and squeezing him _so hard_ in that slick, hot, tight place between Jim's spread legs and he is – he is coming too, shoving up into Jim, pumping his own semen into his beloved mate in potent jets. Their shared mindspace is a dazzling universe of pure light, sizzling and life-giving like the sun, raising them up higher and higher in their combined bliss until they are both insensate, combined in body and also in soul.

A long, serene minute passes before Spock realizes that all that is propping Jim upright on top of him are his hands around Jim's ribs. He helps Jim lower himself down. He enfolds his arms around Jim who nestles a warm, damp face against his neck. He cards his fingers through the sweaty, golden tufts on the back of Jim's head. He is still inside Jim but he is softening. Jim is also soft now between their bellies. It is temporary, for Jim's heat is far from over.

"Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, ashal-veh," Spock murmurs, his cheek pressed to Jim's temple. _I cherish thee, my darling_.

Jim says nothing with his voice. Jim says everything with a long, chaste kiss to his skin, with the tightening of those long, lean legs along his own.

Jim's heat lasts for 39.6 hours. During that time, Spock and Jim copulate fifteen more times. Whenever Jim blacks out, Spock immediately halts all sexual activity and lets Jim rest, wiping Jim and himself down with a wet cloth when there is too much semen or slick coating their skin. Spock uses these hiatuses to check for messages from his father on his PADD and Jim's.

As expected, Sarek has periodically sent messages to inform them of T'Aman's state and activities while she is staying at his house. (For obvious reasons, his and Jim's mental bonds with T'Aman have been shielded since Jim's heat commenced.) All is well with them: T'Aman has been preoccupied with mathematical homework and stories about her late ko-mekh-il from Sarek. Selek has visited twice to help keep an eye on her, and also brought her to the Science Academy to show her some of their current experiments. She has also gifted her sa-mekh-al with a poem of his own, and it is evident from Sarek's message about it that Sarek is gratified. Jim will be happy to receive such news after his heat is over.

Spock knows precisely when that occurs by the reduction of the slick produced by Jim's body. Once the production fully stops, it is a matter of an hour at most for the heat to end. Spock is replying one of his father's messages when he feels a gentle, familiar touch of fingers to his forearm.

His eyes crinkled, he glances away from the PADD in hand at Jim who is lying on his side under the red-and-gold covers next to him and gazing at him with heavy-lidded, warm eyes. Spock places the PADD on the bedside table and then rolls back to face Jim, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing down at his cherished mate.

"Nam-tor du uf?" Spock asks, stroking Jim's tousled, luxuriant hair with one hand. _How are you_?

Jim smiles softly up at him. Jim turns that pulchritudinous face into his palm to nuzzle it with eyes shut in contentment.

"Muhl-olauk, k'diwa," Jim replies, turning that golden head to gaze up at him again. _Euphoric, half of my heart and soul_.

Spock makes a low, satisfied sound.

"Nam-tor nash-veh muhl-olauk," Jim murmurs. _I am euphoric_. Then, Jim yawns, his whole face scrunching up and his jaw cracking. Blinking, he adds, "Eh zungor, nafai-tor nash-veh." _And tired, I admit_.

"Nam-tor du k'avon ha?" _Are you hungry_?

"K'mag." _Thirsty_.

Spock rolls over to face the bedside table again where he had earlier set a full bottle of fresh water and a plate of several ripe fruits. He swings his legs over the side of the bed to sit up, but even this small action is enough to trigger Jim's still heightened Omega instincts to stay near to his Alpha. Jim whines low in his throat and slides across the bed to grasp Spock's bare hip with one hand. Jim doesn't move his hand away as Spock picks up the bottle of water.

"Ssh, ashal-veh," Spock murmurs in reassurance. "Ka'i."

Spock returns to Jim's side. He helps Jim to sit up with an arm supporting Jim's upper back. Jim leans heavily against him as he tilts the opened bottle to Jim's dry, parted lips. Jim swallows the fresh water greedily. Jim's left hand trembles while it grasps the bottle over Spock's right hand.

"Bolau tu shom," Spock says, after Jim has settled back on the bed with that golden head resting upon his shoulder. _You need to rest_.

Jim sniffles once, then wriggles his naked, pliant body closer to Spock's. Spock tightens his embrace around his enervated Human mate, rubbing circles on Jim's back with both hands. Jim entwines their legs under the covers.

"Nam-tor nash-veh sasu t'ek'kayik mak," Jim mumbles into his shoulder. "Ri bolau nash-veh shom." _I am a man of constant joy_. _I do not require rest_.

At that instant, Jim yawns widely again, gulping in air for so long that Spock's already crinkled eyes crease even more. His mate is certainly a creature of contradictions.

Spock's hands eventually go still on Jim's back under the covers. He feels Jim's back rise and fall with stable, easy breaths. He feels Jim's warm breaths upon his skin, like tender kisses Jim would randomly bestow upon him with those full, supple, dark pink lips.

"Ashau nash-veh du, Spock," Jim whispers, and Spock knows that Jim is seconds away from slipping into another deep slumber to recover his energy.

"And I love you, my Jim," Spock whispers back, and he knows that when Jim awakens the next time, their little daughter will be home again and their family will be together once more, as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the sex that happens is _totally consensual_. Jim and Spock are only role-playing as master and slave. But if the mere description of a person physically holding down another, fighting off an attacker, getting choked, hair pulling, rough sex, etc. is enough to freak you out, please read this at your discretion.
> 
> And about Spock's telekinesis? Yeah, it's not canon in any way. It's potential set-up for a future long update (maybe 20,000+ words?) and I'm leaving it at that for now. *wink*


	13. Of Bones and Cupcakes and Hubba-Hubba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bones pays a visit to Spock's and Jim's new home on New Vulcan. What news will he give to the happily mated and married couple who have settled down with their young daughter?
> 
> (Oh yeah. This update is chock full of Spirk feels to the MAX.
> 
> Also, holy crap ... this story has officially hit the 90,000+ word mark.)

Ten weeks after Jim's heat, Leonard visits them at their new abode on New Vulcan and stays with them for one night. Jim is overjoyed to spend time with his Human best friend again. It is plain to see in Jim meticulously preparing the guest room and stocking up on pale-amber Vulcan brandy that Leonard now approves of almost as much as his treasured bourbon.

"Bones is gonna bring over some marinated steaks, patties, corn cobs and potatoes," Jim says to him while checking the refrigerator for fresh ice, on the day before Leonard's arrival. "It'll be T'Aman's first Human barbecue!" Then Jim makes a silly face and says, "Uh, not that we're gonna barbecue any _Humans_ but you get what I mean."

T'Aman, sitting at the kitchen counter consuming a bowl of plomeek soup for lunch, appears … disappointed at the lack of Humans to barbecue.

" _Aw_ , don't look like that, sugar-bug," Jim says to her, walking up to her and pinching her chubby, green-tinged cheek. "Bonesy is coming!"

"Bonesy!" T'Aman says, smiling again. A second later, she returns to consuming her meal and scoops another spoonful of plomeek into her wide-open mouth while Jim ruffles her space-black curls and smiles fondly at her.

Jim and Spock had discussed T'Aman's diet very early in her life: despite being an Omega, Jim could not lactate and therefore had to bottle-feed their daughter with (Leonard-approved) formula, something that Jim had worried about Spock deeming unacceptable. (Illogical.) As she grew older, they agreed that T'Aman was to be allowed to choose whether she wanted to consume meat or not.

Like most Vulcans, Spock is a vegetarian out of cultural choice and due to Surak's tenet of abstaining from acts of violence and murder. T'Aman is his daughter, but it would be illogical of him to coerce her into the same lifestyle simply because it is his. A decision is only genuine when it is made out of one's own choice and volition. He will not think any less of T'Aman should she decide to consume meat for the foreseeable future. After all, Jim still consumes meat regularly, and Spock does not love him any less in any way. (In fact, Spock loves his Human bondmate more and more with each passing day, as scientifically unverifiable as that may be.)

Thus, Spock has no objection when T'Aman tells Jim that she does wish to try this strange, new Human food called a burger (which Spock is already familiar with since his time in San Francisco). A pleased Jim tells her that it'll be a little different than the ones on Earth because Jim will be pairing the meat patties Leonard brings with krei'la instead of sliced buns from Earth. T'Aman does not seem to mind this, clapping her hands like she is. She is as excited as Jim to see Leonard again.

Spock has taken a day off from his occupation as lecturer at the Science Academy to be present at Leonard's arrival. When Leonard does so, twenty-eight minutes before noon, it is in an aircar that smoothly travels the paved path up the tree-laden hill to their cozy bungalow home with its shaded front porch and mowed front yard. T'Aman darts out of their home first, followed by Jim who cheerfully hails the doctor by his established nickname. Eyes creased, Spock stands with his hands behind him on the front porch and observes his mate and child greet Leonard with tight hugs and broad smiles.

Leonard is in his typical casual outfit of a t-shirt, jeans, boots and his old olive-green, utility jacket. He has a medium-sized duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

"Aw, kid, it's good to see you again," Spock hears Leonard say to Jim from where he stands. Leonard returns Jim's glad smile with one of his own and playfully cups Jim's smooth cheeks with both hands. "Look at you! Never seen you so happy in my life."

Jim chuckles, and the sound is sweet and calming to Spock's sharp Vulcan ears.

"But before anything else," Bones also says, stepping back to eyeball Jim from neck to feet and back. "Lord have mercy, what are you _wearing_?"

Jim laughs, then spins around with his arms spread under the mild New Vulcan sun. The motion sends his airy, dark gray-and-beige Vulcan robes billowing in the air. Their long sleeves are wider at the hem and a v-collar reveals a portion of Jim's collarbones. They are similar to the robes Spock is wearing. T'Aman – in a white t-shirt, dungarees and a neon blue, fluffy tutu skirt – smiles and twirls around her Daddy like the little dancer she is, her arms also spread.

"They're Vulcan robes, Bones. Not the formal ones. These are the informal ones Vulcans wear at home when it's really hot," Jim replies, grinning, turning in a slower circle for a wide-eyed Leonard to scrutinize his clothing. "They've got _great_ ventilation!"

Leonard rolls his eyes and says, "I don't need to hear anything about your _ventilation_ , thank you very much." Leonard then scrutinizes Jim again with squinted eyes. "Hmph, at this point all you're missing are the _ears_!"

Jim takes no offense to this at all (and neither does Spock). Jim laughs once more, his appealing face healthily flushed and glowing.

"Ears like mine!" T'Aman squeals at Leonard's feet, tugging the right leg of his jeans with both hands. "Ears like mine, right?"

When Leonard dips his head to glance down at T'Aman, his entire visage softens in a way Spock has only seen when Leonard gazes at his own daughter, Joanna. Leonard smiles at her as he reaches down for her with both arms like she is reaching up for him with both of her own. Leonard sweeps her off her feet and into his embrace with the ease of a loving father. (Or an uncle, as Jim thinks of Leonard in relation to T'Aman.)

"Hi, cupcake!" Leonard says with creased, twinkling eyes, holding her against his chest with both arms. "It's so _good_ to see you again! Look how big you've grown! And look at you in your cute tutu. Did you pick that for yourself?"

"Yes, Bonesy. But you saw me 4.7 months ago," T'Aman replies solemnly, gazing back at Leonard with large, earnest blue eyes so much like her Human father's. "I am Vulcan. I am not a cupcake."

Jim, still smiling and watching T'Aman interact with her favorite Human uncle, bites his lower lip.

Leonard raises one eyebrow and gives T'Aman an amusing, exaggerated look of skepticism.

"Are you so sure about that? You may have _changed_ into one without knowing it."

T'Aman opens her mouth in the beginnings of protest. After three seconds of silence, her brow furrows in confusion as she shuts her mouth. She stares at Leonard and sticks two small fingers into her mouth while she considers Leonard's question. Leonard stares back at her with a now innocent expression. Only his lips betray him, twitching minutely like they are.

T'Aman glances at Jim who is trying very valiantly to not crack into laughter. Then T'Aman glances over her shoulder at Spock.

{Sa-mekh, am I a cupcake?} Spock hears his daughter ask him through their familial bond.

He hears Jim chuckling good-naturedly through his bond with his mate. He prides himself on the mastery of his facial expression as well as his expression of emotions through his bonds.

{No, my ko-fu, you are not a cupcake. A cupcake is a sweet, baked food in a cup-shaped container. You are a sentient being born from a Human daddy and a Vulcan father, are you not?}

T'Aman contemplates on this for 2.6 seconds. Then, T'Aman is shrieking and smacking Leonard on the shoulders with both hands.

"I am _not_ a cupcake! I am Vulcan!"

Leonard throws his head back and laughs uproariously, his hazel-green eyes squeezed shut from glee. He hugs T'Aman tightly to him and she hugs him back around his neck as tightly. Jim grins at them, as at peace as Spock has ever seen his Human mate. He smacks Leonard on the upper arm but it is with shared mirth.

Leonard and Jim then turn toward the house and saunter up to the shaded front porch and Spock.

"Spock!" Leonard greets him cheerfully while grasping a complacent T'Aman to his chest with the other.

Spock nods. After Leonard, Jim and T'Aman are on the front porch with him, Spock raises his right hand in a ta'al.

"Dif-tor heh smusma, Leonard." He lowers his hand and arranges his hands behind his back again. "I am gratified by your presence in our home. I trust that your journey was a favorable one?"

Leonard gives Spock a narrow-eyed look that makes Jim's lips tremor.

"Good lord, Spock, how _long_ have we known each other, already?" Leonard turns to Jim who has already lost the battle with the expanding smile across his face. "I feel like _royalty_ every time I meet your husband, Jim. Is he _this_ formal _all_ the time?" While Jim shakes his head and still smiles, Leonard turns back to Spock and answers, "Yes, it was fine. I still _hate_ flying, but it was fine, just fine."

"Then your presence is all the more cause for celebration," Spock says, utterly blank-faced.

Leonard's lips bow up at the ends.

"Well, thank you kindly," Leonard replies, and Spock knows that Leonard is sincere instead of sarcastic.

After Leonard is settled in the guest room, all four of them go to the patio behind the house where Jim and Spock had set up a gas grill the day before. Jim had insisted on cooking the steaks, patties, corn cobs and potatoes the 'old school way' so that T'Aman will have a fulfilling first experience of a Human barbecue. (Without any actual Humans barbecued, of course.) The grill is already preheated and clean, ready for the raw food that Leonard had brought with him.

In respect of Spock's diet, Jim has also prepared various vegetables to be grilled. Jim will be making vegetable kabobs for him and T'Aman. Leonard, as he put it, prefers 'meat, meat, meat and more meat'. Jim, now in a tank top and jeans, and Leonard handle the cooking duties while Spock keeps an eye on T'Aman at the wooden, rectangular picnic table near the grill. She observes her Daddy and Leonard with large, rapt eyes and parted lips. She claps her hands and giggles when Jim flips a piece of steak into the air and then catches it with a spatula.

"And for the little one," Leonard says to T'Aman as he serves her a grilled patty tucked between two pieces of krei'la on a plate, "a Human-Vulcan hamburger!"

T'Aman lets out a blissful squeal and reaches for the burger with both hands. The instant her fingertips touch the hot, grilled meat, she yanks back her hands with a gasp.

"Hot!" she says to Spock, glancing up at him and sucking on the tip of one finger.

After seeing Jim do this many times over the years, Spock doesn't think twice about grasping T'Aman's wrist to kiss her affected finger. As illogical and unscientific as it is, Jim asserts that planting a kiss on an injured area can truly make it feel better. T'Aman gives him a sun-bright smile and then pokes at her burger again. When Spock glances at Jim and Leonard, he sees that the two men are gazing at him, Jim with crinkled blue eyes and a tender smile, Leonard with an amused grin. He feels no shame whatsoever at being caught bestowing physical affection upon his daughter, for there is nothing shameful in loving his family and sustaining their happiness through little acts of kindness.

Soon, everyone is enjoying their meals at the picnic table. Leonard sits opposite Spock while Jim sits opposite T'Aman who is now munching on her burger with gusto, gripping it with both hands to direct it to her wide-open mouth.

"Yummy!" she exclaims after the first bite, her mouth full of krei'la and masticated grilled beef.

"T'Aman, don't talk with your mouth full," Jim scolds mildly, but he is also smiling softly, cutting his grilled steak with a knife.

"Burgers are awesome, aren't they!" Leonard says to T'Aman with wide eyes of delight, poking a slice of steak on his plate with a fork.

"They are awesome!" T'Aman replies, grinning at him across the table.

Leonard chuckles. Then, while T'Aman is enthralled by her burger again, Leonard stage-whispers to Jim, "Does she know where the meat comes from?"

"Nope," Jim says nonchalantly, just before forking a piece of his own steak into his mouth.

"Okay, then. Ixnay on the laughter-say ouse-hay."

Spock raises an eyebrow at Leonard, but before he can say anything, Jim speaks to him through their mental bond.

{That's Pig Latin, babe. You take the first sound of a word, put it at the end of the word and then add 'ay' after it.}

Spock reverses the process on Leonard's last comment.

"Ah," Spock says, raising both eyebrows this time.

Jim glances at him with eyes of amusement and says, {Yeah. Trust me, T'Aman doesn't need to know where the meat _really_ comes from. She'll find out soon enough.}

Spock turns his head to watch his daughter still relishing her burger. She has devoured a quarter of it, her already chubby cheeks even rounder from her full mouth. She chews slowly. She sucks on her fingers after swallowing her latest mouthful. She smiles to herself as she takes another bite.

Yes, Spock sees his husband's logic. T'Aman is satisfied, and there is no reason to spoil her satisfaction with information that she will learn sooner or later.

Jim and Leonard eventually gossip about Leonard's love life. Jim has an impish expression that removes years from his handsome visage. Leonard rolls hazel-green eyes at him but has a pleased smile. Leonard is now working at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, specializing in emergency medicine. Despite initial objection to the idea, he will also begin his occupation as a part-time instructor in the coming academic year, encouraged by other instructors to do so due to his valuable experiences on board the Enterprise. He had met a fellow doctor on campus while registering for the job, a Human woman called Ping Wei who had served on the USS Zhukov as Chief Medical Officer.

Apparently, as Jim had blithely confided to Spock, Leonard is quite enamored with her.

" _Soooo_ , are we gonna hear _wedding bells_ soon, Bones?" Jim asks, squinting and smiling puckishly at the other Human man, chewing on a grilled corn cob.

"Jim, I just met her three months ago. I'd like to actually _get to know her_ before putting a ring on her finger!"

Jim had also confided to Spock about Leonard's past tumultuous marriage and subsequent bitter divorce. Since marrying Spock – in both Human and Vulcan ways – Jim has deemed it one of his missions in life to help Leonard find love again. Leonard … does not always appreciate Jim's efforts, but still loves Jim all the same. (It took Leonard many weeks to forgive Jim for setting up that blind date with a … very ardent Klingon woman while the Enterprise was on a layover at one of the most popular pleasure planets in the galaxy.)

Spock glances at Leonard and says, "Leonard, perhaps a participation in 'hubba-hubba' with Ping Wei will assist you with becoming more familiar with her and making a decision about a shared future."

Leonard and Jim stare at him with utterly straight faces for 3.2 seconds. Then, an obnoxious noise blows out from between Jim's lips before Jim slaps a hand over his mouth, his blue eyes creased to the point of almost closing and his shoulders shaking. Leonard's face is still straight as he points a finger at Spock, glances at Jim and says deadpan, "Did he just say _hubba-hubba_ to me. Did he actually just say that."

Right then and there, T'Aman yells, "Hubba- _HUBBA_!"

Jim drops his hand from his mouth and erupts into uncontrollable guffaws, his eyes squeezed shut, rocking to and fro from his mirth. Leonard is powerless against the contagious sound and sight, and Leonard cracks into a low chuckle too, shaking his head and smiling at Spock. Spock merely raises his eyebrow at Leonard while biting into a grilled fori on a stick. T'Aman laughs and laughs with her Daddy, kicking her legs under the table.

Surrounded by carefree laughter, by his family he loves and is loved by in return, the skin around Spock's eyes crinkle as he languidly masticates his mouthful of grilled vegetable. In the shared mindspace with Jim, he feels his mate's indubitable love enfold around him as a sun-warm, soothing blanket.

He thinks about his Human mother. He thinks about the moments when she smiled at him without reserve, when she laughed without reserve in a world that shunned any emotional display and branded it weak.

After finishing their meal and cleaning up the grill and picnic table, all four of them amble back into the house. Jim and Leonard continue their conversation in the living room. Spock leaves them be to tuck T'Aman into bed for her afternoon nap. On a school day, T'Aman would be in class now, learning mathematics and basic science and advancing her knowledge of the Vulcan language. But today, she is free to be at home, to give her Sa-mekh a kiss on the cheek before she settles under the blanket and shuts her eyes and falls asleep.

With the background noise of Jim and Leonard chatting and laughing, Spock sits at his daughter's bedside and watches her slumber for 4.9 minutes. He brushes his fingertips along the rims of ears just like his. He sweeps space-black curls from her smooth forehead, just like his mother did to his bangs when he was a child and she had thought him to be asleep. He thinks about his mother, about her fingers touching his face for the last time.

He caresses his daughter's plump, warm cheek with the back of his fingers. He will do so again when she is awake to feel it and remember it.

In the evening, the four of them have a simple dinner of various Vulcan foods prepared by Spock. (Spock had volunteered to do so for Jim to be able to spend more time with Leonard.) Leonard finishes everything on his plate despite having often groused about how bland Vulcan food is to him. T'Aman is drowsy after a big meal but insists on Leonard reading her a bedtime story before she slumbers for the night.

In the doorway of T'Aman's bedroom, Jim and Spock silently observe Leonard reading her favorite storybook, Alice in Wonderland. He sits on the bed with T'Aman and has one arm around her while they both gaze down at the pages of colorful watercolor illustrations and large text. Jim has a broad smile on his face and leans against Spock. Spock, standing straight-backed and shoulders squared as usual, has one arm around Jim's waist.

Once T'Aman has fallen asleep, Leonard pulls the blanket up to her neck and strokes her hair once. Spock murmurs a command to the house's Computer to dim the room's light to ten percent. Jim then shuts the door behind them to a small gap. Jim, Spock and Leonard saunter to the living room where Leonard has already placed his medical tricorder on the low, oval coffee table.

Jim and Spock sit on the cream-colored couch with Jim nearer to the cream-colored armchair that Leonard occupies. Leonard picks up the small, gray clamshell-shaped tricorder and flips it open to reveal a large screen and touch-sensitive buttons.

"Okay," Leonard says to Jim. "Symptoms."

Spock knows that he is now gazing at Doctor McCoy and not just his Human friend and guest of his house.

Jim, with his hands on his lap, sucks in a deep breath and replies, "Okay. Uhm. The vomiting. That's the most obvious one. I've thrown up at least once a day for the past six days. There's the body aches, especially in my lower belly and back. But this time I'm … also okay with Human food. Well, steak and burgers and potatoes and corn, anyway. Otherwise it's Vulcan food all the way."

Leonard lifts the tricorder and aims it at Jim. Jim sits still while Leonard briskly scans him from head to toes with its scanner. Spock also sits still and silently while Leonard studies the results of the scan. Leonard's expression is inscrutable.

Leonard is quiet long enough that Jim begins to fidget and nibble on his lower lip. Spock remains motionless, watching Leonard press a few buttons and make a noncommittal sound between pursed lips. After another 5.2 seconds, Leonard raises his head to gaze at each of them. Jim first, then Spock, then Jim again.

Leonard's expression is still inscrutable. Jim tangles his fingers together in nervousness on his lap and sucks in his lower lip. Spock gazes back at Leonard, prepared for whatever news Leonard will impart to them.

"So," Leonard says casually. "How many rooms do you have in this house?"

Jim blinks and asks, "Uh, five, including the guest room. Why?"

Leonard glances at Jim with that inscrutable expression and says, "Because you're going to need one for baby number two."

Leonard's expression transforms into a joyful grin while Jim bursts out laughing with similar elation. Spock is also gratified, but as a Vulcan, his emotion reveals itself only in the crinkling of his eyes and the softening of his face. Jim is still laughing when he pounces on Leonard to give the other Human man a tight hug with both arms around Leonard's shoulders. Still grinning, Leonard hugs Jim in return, patting Jim twice on the upper back.

Neither Leonard or Spock make any comment on Jim blinking those large, meteor-bright blue eyes rapidly or running both hands down a face that crumples for just a second. Jim has his features under control once more after lowering his hands. Jim laughs again and grins at Leonard and Spock even as his eyes glisten under the living room's warm lights.

"Well, if I didn't know before that I'm pregnant," Jim says, rolling his eyes, "my wacky hormone levels would have clued me in."

Leonard snorts at that, but his eyes are warm and his smack on Jim's arm is gentle.

"I thought -" Jim glances at Spock who gazes unblinkingly back at his jubilant mate. "I thought maybe Spock had to be in pon'farr too for a pregnancy to even happen. I mean, that's how the first one happened. I guess I just needed to be in heat."

To Leonard's credit, he does not tease Jim and Spock about that. He does tease them, however, when Jim smiles affectionately at Spock and reaches for Spock's hand and tangles their fingers together in full view of him.

"Oh, get a _room_ , you two!" Leonard mutters, knowing by now that Vulcans kiss with their fingers.

"We already are in a room," Jim and Spock reply simultaneously, and then Jim bursts into laughter again while Spock glances at Leonard who rolls his eyes but is also smiling.

The three of them spend 2.8 hours after that reminiscing their days on board the Enterprise, with Leonard enjoying a glass of Vulcan brandy and Jim sticking to hot chocolate that Spock sneaks sips of when Jim isn't looking. Spock is pleasantly, as Jim would say, buzzed by the time they retire for the night. However, he and Jim fall asleep soon after settling under the covers. Spock's last moments of consciousness are of him resting his hand on Jim's still flat belly and feeling Jim's hand cover his.

In the morning, Leonard departs shortly before Spock has to go to the Science Academy. An aircar awaits outside the house as Jim, Spock and T'Aman – a naturally early riser – see him off on the front porch.

"Sochya eh dif, Leonard," Spock says, his right hand raised in a ta'al.

Jim, carrying T'Aman in his arms, smiles at Leonard while Leonard raises his own right hand and then attempts a ta'al too. Leonard uses the fingers of his other hand to arrange his fingers in the correct combination.

"Uh, same to you, Spock," Leonard replies, now holding up a decent-looking ta'al.

Jim puts T'Aman down on her feet to embrace Leonard in farewell. Neither Human man say goodbye because, as Jim once told Spock, there is no need for goodbye when they will see each other again. Leonard pats Jim on the back twice, then steps back and picks up his duffel bag from the floor.

T'Aman dashes after Leonard, although only to the edge of the front porch. Leonard swivels around and waves at them with a benign smile.

"I am not a cupcake!" T'Aman exclaims. "You are!"

Spock watches Jim wave back at Leonard and listens to the amused laughter of the two Human men drift through the tranquil and cool morning air. He watches his daughter wave enthusiastically at Leonard as he climbs into the aircar and waves back at her through the transparent passenger window. He watches with crinkled, gleaming eyes and he thinks about himself as a three year old Vulcan child standing in front of his kneeling mother in the back garden of their home on Vulcan-that-was. He thinks about the child he was, who still accepted his mother's touch and coveted and cherished it without reserve.

 _You are perfect as you are, my sa-fu_ , his mother had said to him, stroking his chunky, green-flushed cheek with her fingers and smiling adoringly at him. _You are worthy of love and respect as you are, no matter what they say_.

 _But, ko-mekh,_ Spock had replied, raising an eyebrow, _it is illogical to think that anyone can be perfect_.

His mother had simply smiled at him and stroked his space-black, immaculate hair, knowing even then that he would one day understand what she meant.

And he does understand. He does, at last.

"Hey."

Spock, now an adult Vulcan with a young daughter and another child on the way, turns to face his beloved t'hai'la who touches his cheek with familiar, callused fingers.

"Hey," Jim murmurs again. "What are you thinking about?"

Spock gazes into Jim's eyes as warm as the New Vulcan sun above them.

"I am thinking about my mother. I am thinking about you and our daughter and our child to come," Spock murmurs in return, turning his face slightly into Jim's palm. "I am thinking about home."

And Jim, who has no shame nor fear of demonstrating emotion for them both, smiles at him with supple, dark pink lips and draws his head down for a kiss that is slow and luscious and as replenishing as sunlight to a leafy, towering tree.

Home sweet home, indeed.


	14. Going the Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Bones tells Jim and Spock their good news and then returns to Earth, the happy, married couple celebrate.
> 
> (Yep. This is pretty much a PWP, from Spock's perspective.)

Jim is gripping onto the headboard of their bed with both hands like Spock commanded. Jim's bent, spread legs are raised in the air due to the pillow tucked under his lower back. Jim's penis is rigid and reddened, curving up towards his still-flat, stretchmarked belly.

"You're trying to drive me crazy, Spock," Jim rasps.

Spock slides two fingers into Jim's tight, searing hole again. The generous slick being produced allows Spock to withdraw his fingers and then press three in without any resistance. He watches the muscles of Jim's tense arms cord and tremble, the arch of Jim's neck when Jim throws his head back. He watches his Human mate's luscious, dark pink lips part in a long, low moan that makes him breathe deep in return, in anticipation. Jim's unique Omega scent of caramel, petrichor, freshly cut grass and sunshine permeates Spock's nose and lungs.

Spock takes his time opening Jim up and massaging Jim's sensitive prostate. He slides his fingers in and out and brushes his fingertips across Jim's prostate, again and again until Jim is panting and his toes are curled in.

"Perhaps I am," Spock says, and it is with that low, fierce version of his voice that Jim has described as 'his ultimate turn-on button slammed with a fist'.

When Jim lets go of the headboard with his right hand to reach down for his neglected erection, Spock seizes Jim's wrist with his free hand and moves Jim's hand away to the side. He slides his fingers even deeper inside Jim, pressing the pads of his fingers against Jim's prostate. Jim shakes as if jolted by electricity. Jim's hips buck and Spock feels his mate's inner muscles constrict even more around his fingers.

"Hold the headboard," Spock commands once more.

Jim does so in 4.7 seconds. Spock encloses his hand around the base of Jim's stiff penis, then squeezes it and _presses_ on Jim's prostate at the same time. This time, Jim lets out a sharp cry and convulses and bows off the bed from the shock of an unexpected orgasm. Spock knows precisely how tight to squeeze the base of Jim's erection to halt Jim's orgasm and so Jim does not come after all. Jim's erection remains after spurting out a miniscule amount of semen. Spock maintains his grip on Jim's penis and keeps his fingers deep to the knuckles inside Jim while Jim quavers from head to toe and gulps greedily for air.

Jim is still clinging onto the headboard.

Spock watches Jim's eyelids flutter. He watches the tremors run through Jim's arms, through Jim's taut, exquisite torso. He feels fresh, hot slick gush around his fingers. He forces himself to take deep and stable breaths.

"Spock," Jim breathes out.

Spock can sense that Jim is near the end of his endurance, that Jim is on the edge. Jim does not want to be teased anymore. Jim wants to leap off that edge, to fly. Jim _wants_ him. Jim wants _him_.

"Ha, ashayam," Spock murmurs. "I am here."

Spock pulls out his fingers, causing another tremor to run through Jim's body. He grasps Jim's thighs and spreads them even wider to fit himself between them, to bare his mate's hot, tight, welcoming hole to his sight. He guides himself in, his double-ridged penis thrusting in relentlessly and smoothly. He holds Jim's hips down with his telekinesis. By the time his hips are pressing against Jim's buttocks, Jim is panting through an open mouth and he is gritting his teeth and exhaling fast and shallow through his nose.

Again, Spock grips the base of Jim's penis. It throbs within his hand from another impeded orgasm. He waits until Jim is no longer quivering again, and then he is leaning over Jim, pulling out halfway and thrusting back inside his mate to the hilt. Jim gasps and lets go of the headboard but Spock doesn't command him a third time to hold it. Jim is grabbing his hands and entwining their fingers. Jim is kissing him.

Spock slides out again, then thrusts in again. He goes still deep inside Jim and releases a long, slow breath. He gazes down at Jim who gazes back at him with heavy-lidded, meteor-bright blue eyes. He breathes long and slow, and Jim's breaths begin to synchronize with his. Delicious pressure is building within him and Jim, in their flexed, expectant bodies, in their glowing, sun-hot mindspace that they share and will always share. It spikes when Jim locks their fingers together on the bed on either side of Jim's golden head. Jim is kissing him and smiling up at him and Spock cannot stop himself from groaning when Jim deliberately tightens around his penis and licks those luscious, dark pink lips with an also pink tongue.

Jim will find out soon enough that tonight's lovemaking is about going the distance, not racing to the finish line.

Spock slides in and out of his beloved Human mate, over and over and over, hard and deep enough to make Jim pant and moan and futilely writhe against Spock's telekinetic grip on his hips but not enough for orgasm to overwhelm Jim. Through his touch telepathy, he can sense whenever Jim is getting too close to orgasm. Every time that occurs, Spock withdraws halfway out of Jim's slick, snug hole and goes motionless, shutting his eyes, gritting his teeth again and fighting to not come himself while Jim's inner muscles squeeze around him. Spock does this four more times in order to not increase the speed of his thrusts or come.

By now Jim is constantly moaning low in his throat and shiny with sweat. Jim's knuckles are white while his hands continue to grip Spock's. Jim's eyes are half-shut and glazed as Spock rocks slow and steady into him, always in to the hilt, always out only halfway so Spock is always inside him. Every time, every single time Jim nears orgasm, Spock stops thrusting and kisses Jim's lips with his own and whispers terms of endearment, questions about whether Jim is in any pain or straining any muscles.

"Have you – have you been taking some kinda energy supplement or something?" Jim whispers when Spock goes still inside him yet again and touches their foreheads together.

Spock lets go of Jim's left hand and moves his hand down to Jim's belly. He flattens his hand on the stretchmarked skin there, over where their second child is growing inside Jim. Spock caresses his mate's belly with gentle, circular motions. Jim sighs and rubs their foreheads, their noses together, his Omega instincts appeased by Spock's Alpha-like behavior of displaying affection for their unborn baby.

"No, my Jim," Spock replies into Jim's lips. "Just you."

Jim lets out a soft, blithe laugh. It swiftly transforms into a hoarse groan when Spock resumes thrusting slow and steady and _deep_.

"Please, Spock … Sanu, k'diwa," Jim rasps against his cheek. "Sanu, ri weht. Nam-tor ri kup p-palesh-tor." _Please, half of my heart and soul. Please, no more. I can't t-take it_.

Spock goes motionless once more, inside Jim to the hilt. He presses his lips to Jim's smooth cheek, then says into Jim's ear, "Istau vah t'du, t'hai'la." _As you wish, my soulmate, my everything_.

Spock intertwines the fingers of both their hands together again. Spock kisses Jim on the lips, cheeks, neck and shoulder. Jim bites that full, dark pink lower lip to curb a loud moan as Spock withdraws then pushes in fast, pummeling Jim's prostate just right with those double ridges. Jim twitches and shakes and gasps in precious air with each quickening thrust. Jim's rigid, reddened penis leaks pre-come onto their bellies. Spock breathes as raggedly as his Human mate, thrusting harder, faster, _faster_. Without Spock's telekinesis holding him down anymore, Jim's hips buck up to meet every thrust.

Spock hears his name in every breath Jim takes, every breath Jim releases. Their shared mindspace is a universe of golden, exceptionally bright explosions. Jim's pleasure is his pleasure and his pleasure is Jim's pleasure. There is no stopping Spock or Jim now, no stopping their rush to the cliff edge and off it. Spock swoops down and covers Jim's open mouth just in time to swallow down Jim's euphoric scream as Jim finally comes hard and spatters them both on their heaving bellies and chests. Spock endures for five more quick thrusts before clamping his arms around a now limp and utterly sated Jim, muffling his own euphoric noise into Jim's neck and filling Jim with fertile seed that has already sprung into new life inside his Human mate.

Spock's vision and mind goes bliss-blank for uncountable seconds. He finds himself still deep inside Jim. He is pressing Jim down onto their bed with his weight, but Jim has also wrapped those muscular arms and legs around him, hugging him tightly. He can feel the thundering pulse in Jim's neck against his cheek. He can feel their warm skin sticking together from Jim's sweat. He can feel their katras humming resonantly in unison, in harmony.

Spock relaxes in the secure embrace of his cherished t'hai'la. He lets his eyes fall shut. He allows himself a soundless sigh as Jim cards fingers through his hair and murmurs words of love into his skin.

"You're mine," Jim whispers after an eon, riding high on his Omega hormones and instincts. "Mine."

And Spock, being the wise, seasoned Vulcan that he is who knows when he has got something very good in life, whispers back, "Yes, Jim," and allows his lips to curl up in the intimate shadows of their bedroom.


	15. Number Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavily pregnant Jim, from Spock's perspective. 
> 
> (P.S. I just found out that for some reason, I was no longer receiving notifications about new comments. I'll do my best to reply them all soon. Thank you so much, all of you, for reading and following the story so far, and for your kind words! I appreciate it all! You guys are the best.
> 
> As for the big update I mentioned previously, I'm trying to decide on whether to write the whole thing or upload it part by part as I finish them. First option means waiting longer for the next update. The second one means shorter but more frequent updates. What do you guys think?)

Six months and fifteen days into his pregnancy, Jim has begun to waddle due to his swiftly burgeoning belly and realigning spine. Jim's habit of pressing a hand to his lower back while he saunters around their home has increased by 245% in the last three weeks.

"Oh boy," Jim mumbles to himself, pressing his right hand to his lower back and rubbing the apex of his belly with his left hand. "You're gonna be a big baby, aren't you? Probably bigger than your sister, and she was _big_."

Jim, his pulchritudinous face smooth and hairless due to the drastic changes of his hormone levels, is smiling softly down at his belly, at their unborn second child.

"Must be your Sa-mekh's Vulcan genes making you all _giant_ babies."

Spock is standing at the open door leading to the back patio of their house, his right hand grasping his left wrist behind his back. He observes his heavily pregnant Human mate hanging up three of T'Aman's washed and damp robes on a clothesline stretched between two metal poles. ( _I know we got a dryer_ , Jim had said to him, _but I want T'Aman to know what it's like to wear sun-warmed clothes, what they smell like_.) Under the New Vulcan afternoon sun, Jim's short, golden hair glows. Jim's snug, white t-shirt rides up the swell of his round belly and exposes the tricot panel of Jim's dark-wash jeans that wraps around the lower belly.

In dark gray-and-blue casual Vulcan robes, Spock appears a whole world apart from Jim. In many realities, Spock thinks that the bond he has with Jim would be an impossibility, a miracle that can only exist in fiction and the imagination. But in this reality of theirs, there are miracles that become possible, dreams that become truth. Against all the odds in the universe, he is living in a reality where James Tiberius Kirk not only loves him and is his cherished t'hai'la but is also the loving, dedicated father to their young daughter and soon-to-be-born son.

"We're still thinking of a name for you, baby," Jim murmurs while fastening a small clip to the shoulder of one robe on the clothesline. "Your Sa-mekh has a name starting with 'S', just like Surak, so we'll probably give you a name starting with 'S' too."

Spock stands still and silent. He observes the way the sunlight burnishes the smooth, hairless skin of Jim's still muscular arms. He observes the way Jim's legs move with a slower grace, with care as Jim takes a few steps to clip the other shoulder. He observes the way Jim's eyes crinkle and twinkle as Jim continues to speak to their unborn baby with such plain devotion.

"Maybe Shanak? It apparently means 'love at first sight.'" Jim chuckles to himself, wringing water out of the bottom half of the hanging robe with both hands. "Maybe Savel? That one means 'storm-star'. Which sounds pretty badass, if you ask me. I like Selon too. That one means 'from the star-fire'. Or Sevel, 'star of prosperity'." Jim chuckles again, his pearly teeth a flash of white amidst T'Aman's dark-colored robes. "Your Sa-mekh's got a thing for names associated with stars. Can you tell?"

Spock does not say anything in objection. It is the truth, after all, just like it is the truth that his Jim is a golden star that rivals all stars in the universe with his brilliance and beauty.

"Do you know what your Sa-mekh's name means, baby? Spock comes from 'spo'k'hat'n'dlawa', which means 'resembling half of each other's heart and soul'." Jim is rubbing his round belly again. There is an even softer smile on his face now. "Is that romantic or what?"

Spock's right hand clenches into a fist behind him. It is not at all from anger, but from the incredible surge of _feeling_ within him at the humbling reminder that he is not alone, even with one of his home-worlds gone forever. That he is gazing right now at his ashayam, his k'diwa, the other half of his heart and soul. It is a privilege he knows that many, many beings in this universe will never have.

Jim is standing in profile with T'Aman's robes hanging behind him when Jim says, "Enjoying the view?"

Jim finally turns that golden head to gaze at Spock, raising one eyebrow in a mischievous expression as he presses both hands to his lower back and deliberately thrusts out his burgeoning belly for Spock to behold. Jim's t-shirt rides up even more above his belly, revealing smooth, sun-kissed, taut skin to Spock's unblinking, rapt eyes. Jim is well aware of how much his gravid belly affects Spock.

"Yes," Spock replies, low and true, and Jim's expression changes into a broad, bashful smile. Jim's face flushes as he dips his head.

Spock lowers his hands to his sides and walks out onto the back patio to be with his Human mate. He moves behind a still-smiling Jim and enfolds Jim from behind with both arms. Jim leans back against him without hesitation. Jim rests that head of thick, golden hair upon his shoulder and moans softly with contentment when Spock rubs gentle circles all over his belly that harbors their growing baby. Jim presses his hands over Spock's and slides his fingers in between Spock's cupping his lower belly.

Spock has learned enough about Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics in Humans to know that pregnant Omegas, particularly male Omegas, thrive under regular physical affection from their Alphas. For Jim who has a Vulcan for a partner, their telepathic bond adds another layer of love and comfort to their relationship, appeasing Jim's Omega instincts in ways that no Alpha Human can.

 _Think of it like this_ , Jim had said to him while still pregnant with T'Aman back in San Francisco, _it's like, even when you're not physically touching me, you're still touching me with your mind. Your soul. All the time. I'm never alone in my head or heart. You have no_ idea _how much that can make an Omega feel secure and_ safe _, knowing their Alpha is always there_. _Especially a screwed up one like me_.

Spock had, of course, spent many days afterward reminding Jim that he was _not_ a 'screwed up Omega'. Jim had enjoyed most, of all of Spock's amatory plans, a tranquil and intimate walk through Golden Gate Park, holding hands for all to see through the Conservatory of Flowers and the San Francisco Botanical Garden. Jim had been notably amorous on the Redwood Trail, pushing Spock up against a colossal Redwood tree and kissing him senseless in Human and Vulcan ways.

Now, Jim is turning his head toward him for a Human kiss. Spock observes Jim's big, meteor-bright blue eyes flutter shut and Jim's full, supple dark pink lips part in trusting readiness. Spock shuts his own eyes as he molds his lips to Jim's and slides his tongue into Jim's warm mouth. Jim moans again, pressing their mouths even closer, sucking on Spock's tongue and winding their fingers together against the curve of his lower belly. Spock tightens his embrace around Jim, drawing Jim as close to his body as possible.

Jim is as hot as the sun. Jim is in his arms, his eternal shooting star he had somehow caught with his hands without burning up into ashes. Jim, his golden sun who gives life to all his cells, who gives him new life that smiles at him and hugs him and says _I love you, sa-mekh_ to him.

After another long kiss, then another, they reluctantly separate their mouths and return to basking in the afternoon sunshine and in each other's presence. Their cheeks and temples are pressed together, their eyes shut while Jim sways them slowly from side to side. They know that their unborn son is sleeping at the moment, curled up and calm inside Jim's womb.

"We're gonna have to pick up T'Aman from school soon," Jim murmurs.

Spock opens his eyes to half-mast and gazes down at the protruding belly of his mate. He rubs more gentle circles all over it with both hands. He hears Jim sigh with gratification.

"In 47.3 minutes, yes."

He feels Jim's cheek bunch against his in a smile. Jim's eyes are still shut.

"Right," Jim murmurs, lifting his left hand to caress the side of Spock's face and his pointed ear. "Exactly 47.3 minutes."

"Now it is 46.4 minutes," Spock says, his eyes creased, and Jim chuckles with amusement, tugging playfully on his ear lobe.

"Okay, Mister I-Am-A-Walking-Clock, lemme go to the toilet first and then we'll go pick up our sugar-bug."

Jim grasps his hand as they amble back inside their home. Spock strokes the back of Jim's fingers with his thumb.

"I am 100% certain, Jim, that my surname is not 'I-Am-A-Walking-Clock'."

"No, it's not. But speaking of names ..." Jim reluctantly releases his hand when they reach the toilet adjoining the kitchen. Jim faces him with a deadpan expression. "Spock, I've wanted to tell you something for a really long time."

Spock raises one eyebrow at his beloved mate.

"Which is?"

"I just can't get over the fact that Spock rhymes with cock."

Before Spock can say a word, Jim lunges forward to kiss him hard on the lips.

"I do so love your _cock_ , Mister Spock," Jim rasps into his mouth. "I want you to fuck me _hard_ with it tonight. And that's an order, Commander."

Spock, reeling from Jim's projected images of being naked and moaning on their bed and _fucked_ by Spock while Spock's hands are on his bulging belly, manages to whisper, "Yes, Captain."

Jim rewards him with a gentler, longer kiss on the lips and the stroking of their forefingers and third fingers in an ozh'esta.

"Okay, I _really_ gotta pee now, my bladder is _killing_ me."

Before Spock can say another word, Jim has darted into the toilet and out of sight. Spock patiently stands outside in the carpeted hallway, his lips tingling, his eyes even more creased, reminded all over again just how fortunate he is to have this silly, playful, charming, intelligent, brave, _loving_ Human man as his t'hai'la.

His eternal shooting star. His golden sun. His home. His everything.


	16. My Daughter / Kofu T'Nash-Veh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, for some Spock feels as Spock spends some quality sa-mekh-and-baby bonding time with T'Aman while Jim watches over them.
> 
> This takes place a few weeks before the Enterprise resumes its five-year exploration mission, in Spock's and Jim's temporary apartment in the Vulcan Consulates in Sausalito.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Opus 20](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjR9D3sI7uI) by Dustin O'Halloran.

Spock is sitting in the solid, intricately engraved, wooden rocking chair in T'Aman's bedroom, lit from the side by warm, golden light from the standing lamp next to the chair. Their almost six-month-old baby girl is in his sinewy, dependable arms, cuddled closely to a broad chest upon which Jim has rested his own head so many times now. (But it's never enough. Even forever isn't enough, not for the time Jim wants to spend with Spock and their sweet, little baby girl.)

"You are five months and seventeen days of age, my ko-fu," Spock murmurs down at T'Aman who gazes back at her Sa-mekh with large, entranced eyes so much like Jim's. "In two weeks, your Daddy and you and I will be boarding the Enterprise to resume our five-year mission of space exploration."

Jim stands at the open door of the bedroom, leaning sideways against the door frame with a tender smile on his face. He knows that Spock knows he's there. In half an hour from now, he and Spock will be back in their own bedroom after tucking T'Aman into her crib, snuggling under the covers with Spock's broad chest pressed to his back and those sinewy, dependable, strong arms enfolded around him. Maybe they'll just fall asleep. Maybe they'll talk quietly in the cozy dimness about nothing and everything. Maybe they'll make out and end up making love again before falling asleep together.

But right now, he and Spock are in t-shirts and sweatpants and they're with their sweet, sleepy baby girl who'd woken up and cried, wanting a cuddle or a kiss or just murmured words of love from her fathers. Right now, they are forever young and happy in an eternal second in time.

"We had our reservations about bringing you on board the ship with us," Spock murmurs on, grasping T'Aman's tiny, chunky hand with his forefinger and thumb. T'Aman grasps his finger in return with her whole hand. "There is the constant danger of an attack or invasion by hostile forces. There is the risk that enemies of the Federation may consider you a pawn in political warfare and power struggles and attempt to take you from us. There is the possibility that your Daddy or I may lose our lives in the course of the mission. Perhaps even both of us."

Jim is silent as he gazes at his Vulcan mate and their equally silent baby girl. His smile is now a bittersweet one. Yeah, he and Spock had discussed T'Aman's presence on the Enterprise many times since she was born. No matter how many dangers and risks they came up with, in the end there was really only one choice they found acceptable.

"What, then, was the alternative? We could leave you in the safekeeping of my father, your Sa-mekh-al, or a nanny on New Vulcan. Your Sa-mekh-al would ensure the finest care and education for you, as he did for me when I was a child." Spock tilts his head (in that still so adorable way). "But you would have been separated from us. You would have lived and grown up worlds away from your Daddy and I. You would not have been able to touch our face or hold our hand. Your Daddy and I would not have been able to embrace you and kiss you and tickle you into laughter. Your Daddy and I would not have watched you crawl for the first time or take your first steps. Your Daddy and I would not have been there as you learned about the world, the universe around you.

"Your Daddy knew what it was like to live worlds away from family. He knew immense loss from a very young age, a loss that neither he or I wish for you to ever experience. For your Daddy, it is unthinkable to be parted from you, even with the perils that we will encounter in the coming years. It is the same for me." Spock pauses for a few moments, then says low and resolutely, "No matter what may come our way, we will always protect you. We will always love you."

Once more, Jim's smile is a tender one. He commits to his memory the way the standing lamp's light falls upon Spock's immaculate, space-black hair and pointed Vulcan ears. He commits to his memory the way Spock strokes their calm, somnolent baby girl's tiny fingers with his thumb, the way Spock's eyes crease and gleam with something gratified, something grateful, something eternal as Spock gazes down at her green-tinged, lovely face.

"Your Ko-mekh-il was Human like your Daddy. When I was a baby like you, she held me like I am holding you now. I have no memory of it. But ..." Spock goes silent for a while, rubbing one of T'Aman's sock-covered feet with his other hand. "I now have an idea of what she was thinking when she did so. Of what she felt."

Jim is tempted to saunter over to the rocking chair, to kiss his Vulcan mate on the cheek, to also kiss their baby girl on the cheek or forehead. He stays where he is against the door frame, reluctant to break the tranquility. His chest is tight and somehow also full to bursting with something gratified, something grateful, something eternal and irreplaceable.

"As a child, I was often examined by doctors on Vulcan-that-was. Long before I was born, those doctors told your Ko-mekh-il and your Sa-mekh-al that I could never exist. That I was an impossibility. An impossible dream that will always remain so," Spock murmurs, his resonant voice gone soft again. "As a child, they too told me that no child of mine could ever exist. That my biology guaranteed it to be an impossibility. A foolish dream that will always remain so."

Jim watches the fine skin around Spock's big, brilliant, deep brown eyes crease even more.

"Yet, here we are, my ko-fu," Spock says, and in those six words, Jim hears the triumph of hope and love over doubt, over presumptuousness and disdain.

T'Aman lets out a soft gurgle, followed by a small kick of her chubby legs in the air. She doesn't let go of her Sa-mekh's finger. Spock doesn't let go of her hand either. Spock gazes down at her face and holds her to his chest until her eyes flutter shut, until her tiny hand loosens from his finger and she is breathing deeply and steadily, the glow of her relaxed mind delicate and precious through her budding mental bonds with her fathers.

"Slor runlar, T'Aman," Spock murmurs. _Sweet dreams_.

A lump forms in Jim's throat as Spock slowly lifts their slumbering baby girl to his lips to kiss her on the forehead. Jim is well aware of how controlled Vulcans are with their emotions, much less any overt displays of physical affection. For Spock to hug T'Aman at all, to kiss her on the forehead or cheek, to talk to her about _feelings_ is to defy his strict Vulcan upbringing. To give T'Aman what she needs to be whole and happy.

Jim is still silent as Spock stands and carries their sleeping baby girl to her crib. Spock lays her down on her back on the thick, sheet-covered mattress, her limbs splayed out like the points of a star. Jim finally enters the room with languid steps, walking to the crib to stand beside his beloved Vulcan mate and gaze down at their daughter. Jim reaches past the fleece rail guard and down to caress her chunky cheek with his fingers. He swallows past the lump in his throat, unable to quantify his own feelings for her, for her Vulcan father.

In his shared mindspace with Spock, he senses Spock's mental presence all around him like a warm, safe cloak from the rest of the world. He caresses their baby girl's cheek again. Then, he stands upright and turns to face Spock.

Spock's face is Vulcan-blank, but his big, brilliant, intense, beautiful eyes are anything but. They don't say a word to each other as they stare at each other with warm, crinkled eyes. Jim, who has always and will always say things far better with action than with words, reaches for Spock's hands with his own. He intertwines their fingers and strokes Spock's index and middle fingers with his own in one of innumerable ozh'estas they have already imparted to each other and will impart in the decades to come. Jim touches their foreheads together. Their lips, together.

"Bedtime," Jim murmurs into Spock's lips eventually, after many more kisses Vulcan and Human.

"Which particular activity will bedtime entail tonight?" Spock asks, and Jim can sense Spock's amusement through their bond.

Jim chuckles softly as he pulls on Spock's hands and walks backwards to the room's open door.

"Doesn't matter to me," Jim replies, smiling at his telsu, his t'hai'la. "As long as I'm with you."

And Spock, who Jim knows is a very smart and wise Vulcan, acknowledges Jim's good sense and logic with twinkling eyes and a deferential nod.


	17. Pain, My Old Friend (Love, My New Friend)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered how Jim got the scars on his left thigh?
> 
> This takes place about 3 years after the Enterprise resumes its five-year mission of exploration. 
> 
> Soundtrack: [Sicario OST - Desert Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3GHRYC_nQg).
> 
> (Oh yes, fans of Jim hurt/comfort and angst are going to enjoy this update. And yes, folks, this story has officially hit the 100,000-word mark. Oof! Aaaand I have finally titled every chapter / update for easier browsing.)

For all of his life, James Tiberius Kirk has known pain like an old friend. He knows what it's like to have his own mother refuse to hold him or even look at him, no matter how much he cried for her or crawled after her. He knows what it's like to be punched in the face with a ham-like fist at the age of six, to feel his lower lip split against his teeth, to slam against solid wood and crack his small, fragile head on it while being branded a little Omega bastard, _little Omega shit, why do I have to deal with you, why are you even here, why_. He knows what it's like to run and run and run after a car being driven away by his older Alpha brother, shrieking his brother's name – Sam, Sam, _Sam_ \- and going down on his knees on dry soil with his eyes spilling and his contorted mouth going silent when his brother doesn't stop, doesn't even look back at him, doesn't ever come back.

He knows what it's like to hit all the bars in Riverside and fuck all the desperate Beta and Omega women who throw themselves at him and his pretty face, who don't notice he doesn't have a knot, don't know his Alpha pheromones are fake just like him. He knows what it's like to be beaten by more ham-like fists that belong to sonsofbitches just like his mother's _boyfriends_ who hate his guts too, guys who just want to fuck the Beta widow of the late and great Captain George Kirk. He knows what it's like to bleed and crawl and laugh even as he's crying and grin with bloody teeth, demanding for more pain to make himself forget how numb he is, how _dead_ he really is.

He knows what pain is. He knows what it's like to hurt. For the longest time, it's all that he's ever known.

Then, after his body melts from the inside out from radiation, after minutes of agony that surpasses any he's felt before, he truly dies.

There's no bright light at the end of a tunnel. No loving, serene voices greeting him and welcoming him into some heaven or another. No tormented screams or vicious laughter either to greet and welcome him into hell. There's only utter darkness. Only muttering voices of people he had known, people he thought he knew, people who thought they knew him.

When he opens his eyes, he sees someone who deems him best friend and brother, who's loved him from the moment they met although it'll be denied even upon threat of torture.

 _Oh, don't be so melodramatic_ , Bones says to him, his hazel-green eyes saying something else entirely. _You were barely dead. It was the transfusion that really took its toll_.

After Bones tells him how and why he's still alive, he sees someone else step into view at the foot of his bio-bed. He sees someone who already deems him best friend and brother-in-arms, who's loved him from the moment they met although he will only know this a year from now.

Once, long ago, when Jim sneaked into a little church in Riverside on a rainy Sunday morning to take transient shelter, he'd sat on a pew at the very back while a preacher in a sky-blue dress shirt and slacks spoke calmly and quietly to his calm, quiet congregation. The preacher was a balding, middle-aged man. The preacher had creased and kind brown eyes.

The preacher said, _this is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you_.

The preacher said, _greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends_.

And Jim remembers those words. Jim recognizes the magnitude of Spock hunting down Khan to apprehend him for Jim. (To kill Khan for Jim, even if it cost Spock his life, his _soul_ , although Jim will only know this years from now.)

 _You saved my life_ , Jim says to Spock, his heavy-lidded blue eyes saying so much more as he gazes at the Vulcan who he dreams is the other half of his heart and soul.

 _You saved_ my _life, Captain_ , Spock says to Jim, and Spock's low, resonant voice is soft and his big, brilliant deep brown eyes are even softer.

 _Thank you_ , Jim then says to Spock, to the Vulcan who he dreams is his bondmate and husband and the father of their children.

 _You are welcome, Jim_ , Spock then says to Jim, to the Human Omega man who will learn what pain really means when he realizes what it's like to be in love with a Vulcan already in love with someone else, a Vulcan who will never love him like he loves that Vulcan.

{Jim,} he hears that Vulcan say again with that low, resonant voice.

Yes, he knows what pain is. He knows what it's like to hurt. It's all that he's ever known, until that Vulcan strides into his quarters on board the Enterprise and rips apart his walls, his _cage_ and frees him. Spock, in love with him all along. Spock, who loves him like he loves Spock, perhaps even more than his frail, fear-fueled Human heart can ever love anything and anyone.

{Jim. Ashayam, please respond.}

Spock, his husband. His bondmate. His t'hai'la and the father of their sweet, little baby girl.

{Jim,} Spock says to him with that low, resonant, familiar voice. {Jim, please. We are searching for you.}

Jim opens his mouth but nothing comes out from it. He tries to think, to recall where he is. He is staring up at a purple-and-orange, cloudless sky. He's … not on a bio-bed. He isn't in Starfleet Medical. He isn't on the bed he shares with Spock in their quarters on board the Enterprise. He's … on the ground. He's sprawled on coarse, off-white gravel and rock, partially upright with more flat rock against his back.

He doesn't remember where he is. He doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't know _why_ he's here, he -

Agony explodes from his left thigh when he attempts to move.

He hears someone crying out loud and sharp with a voice steeped in pain, someone that sounds just like him. He squeezes his eyes shut and wheezes and goes frozen, his hands gritted into trembling fists at his sides. It takes an eternity for the agony battering his body to wane to endurable levels. Sweat stipples his face and dampens his hair when he opens his eyes again to slits.

Still panting, he glances down at the vicinity of his thighs. For another eternity, as his breaths slow to ragged ones, he stares at his left thigh, at the _thing_ jutting out of it like a dead, branchless tree from blood-red ground. It's … some kind of long metal rod. It's coated in … blood. His blood. It's jutting out of his thigh and … going into the ground under his thigh. It's … fuck, it's _impaling_ him to the ground.

Jim gasps, then again, louder as the enormity of his situation sinks into his dazed brain. What the hell's happened to him? How did he end up like _this_? And where's his team, where's Spock, _where's Spock_ -

{Jim. _Jim_. Respond to me. Ashayam, _please_.}

Jim blinks. He gulps in a deep, shuddering breath. He lifts his left hand towards his left thigh, but it tremors just inches above the ground before falling back onto it. The gravel scratches and cuts his skin. The pain from that is nothing compared to the pulsating, consuming _ache_ stemming from the grievous wound in his left thigh.

{Spock?}

Even his mental voice sounds hoarse and so _weak_. His shared mindspace with Spock is a dull, featureless white expanse, a smothering blanket that subdues Spock's mental voice and makes Spock seem so far away.

{Jim,} Spock replies, and his name is steeped in relief.

{I'm … I'm stuck.}

{Explain.}

{There's …} Jim glances down at his left thigh again, then lets his eyes flicker shut, going limp against flat, hot rock. He swallows hard. His throat is an arid desert. {I'm stuck … to the ground. It hurts.}

From far away, he senses Spock's alarm through their bond. His eyelids flicker again. He glances down his body and sees that his golden tunic is torn and bloodied. He swivels his eyes around and gradually, he realizes that he's in some kind of rocky valley littered with similar-looking long, metal rods jutting up from the ground. Like small, branchless trees. Maybe they _are_ trees on this previously undiscovered M-class planet -

Oh … right. He and Spock had … beamed down with Bones, Hikaru and a team from the science departments. They wanted to explore the place after preliminary scans pronounced it secure and free of any dangerous predators. Everything had gone fine until … until -

He carefully turns his head to the right. He sees one of the metal rod-like things just four feet away from him, a more crooked and nasty-looking thing. If he'd landed just four feet more to the right … he would be impaled through the chest instead. He would be dead.

He lets his eyes shut again. Jesus, he really is the luckiest bastard alive.

{Jim, can you describe your environment?}

Jim keeps his eyes shut. He breathes shallow and slow. He tries to ignore the throbbing agony infiltrating his whole left leg and hip.

{Some … rocky valley. It's got these … rod-like things … coming out of the ground.}

{Are you alone?}

Jim opens his eyes to slits again upon hearing that. He frowns up at the sky, his dry and chapped lips parted.

{Jim. Do you remember what happened to you?}

{No … No, what …}

{Our initial scans did not detect the winged predatory creatures that must have been concealed in the caves we passed 3.7 hours earlier. One of them captured you and flew away before we could stun it with our phasers.}

Adrenalin surges through Jim, widening his eyes and causing his belly to clench and his limbs to stiffen. More pain explodes from his left thigh as he frantically scans his surroundings, his breaths quickening. He hasn't heard or seen any other lifeforms around apart from these metal rod-like things since regaining consciousness. (He still isn't sure whether they're alive at all or just some kind of natural formation for this planet.) A _winged, predatory creature_?

Fuck, if that thing took him because he's going to be its _dinner_ , it's going to _come back_.

 _Fuck_ , did it deliberately _drop_ him here? Turning him into some kind of _skewered Human_ to snack on later?

He's going to be sick. Oh shit, he's going to be _sick_ -

He twists his head to one side just in time to avoid vomiting his lunch all over himself. The heaves make his legs judder along with his hunched, hurting body. He vomits as much from the renewed pain as the dizziness that makes everything spin round and round like a demented carousel. He's a limp mess by the time the dry heaves abate, panting heavily with his eyes shut while sprawled against off-white flat rock.

He's lost a lot of blood. He doesn't need to look at his blood-soaked pants and the blood glazing the gravel to know that. He feels cold and shivery while he's under two scorching suns hanging in the purple-and-orange sky. His hands won't stop trembling now.

{Jim, we have detected the valley. We are on our way to you.}

He thinks he replies Spock. He thinks that maybe Spock says something in return, something to encourage him to stay awake, to stay strong, _stay with me, Jim, ashal-veh, stay with me_.

Jim drifts for yet another eternity.

He's startled when he peels his eyes open and sees his mother standing over a dozen feet away to his left. She looks exactly like she did the very last time he saw her in Riverside, just before she turned away from him and walked out the family house to the aircar outside. She's in her Starfleet formal grays, gripping her hat with her right hand at her side, her wavy, blonde hair tied into a ponytail. She's staring up at the sky with wide, anguished eyes.

Jim tries to call out to her. Only a pathetic whine emerges from his parched throat. She keeps staring up at the sky, ignoring Jim and seeing only her dead husband dying over and over before her eyes, ignoring Jim like she always has.

When Jim peels open his eyes again, he sees Sam kneeling four feet away from him to his right, under that crooked and nasty-looking metal rod-like thing. Sam looks exactly like he did the day he left Jim behind in that cursed family house, alone with that abusive fucker their mother called her _partner_. Sam still looks like the long-haired teenager he was, young and gangly and awkward and _angry_.

"Why did you leave me, Sammy?" Jim rasps, his throat closing up, his eyes stinging.

Sam doesn't answer him, not for a long time. Sam won't look at him. Sam is absentmindedly flicking small gravel stones across the ground.

 _I wanted to live_ , Sam eventually says, still not looking at him. _I didn't wanna die in that house. I didn't wanna become another ghost in it_.

"What about me?" Jim whispers, sounding just like the little boy he was when Sam drove away and left him behind and didn't even look back. "I wanted to live, too. Why didn't you take me with you?"

Sam doesn't answer him. Sam isn't there anymore.

When Jim peels open his eyes again, he sees Frank standing where Sam had been. Frank is grinning maliciously at him. Staring at him like he's a piece of meat to be devoured and spat out.

 _Go fuck yourself_ , Jim spits out at Frank, _you Alpha piece of shit_.

Jim's lips don't move. Jim can barely blink.

Frank vanishes when Jim peels open his eyes yet again.

"Poor Jimmy. Poor, poor Jimmy."

In Frank's place is … Gaila.

"I loved you, Jimmy. Did you know that?"

Gaila looks exactly like she did the very last time Jim saw her, in the room she shared with Nyota at the Academy. She's sitting on the ground next to him, swathed only by a white bed sheet. Her red, luxuriant hair is fiery under the light of two suns. Her green skin is luminous and sleek and unmarred. Her large yellow eyes burn him with their fierce stare.

"Do you remember what you said to me? After I told you I loved you?"

Jim's own eyes burn hot and wet as he stares back at her. He'd liked her. He really did. She was smart and funny and bold and sexy. She was everything so many guys want in a friend, a lover. She liked him, _loved_ him despite knowing his reputation, despite knowing what a selfish, manipulative asshole he'd been back then. Before Nero. Before the complete destruction of Vulcan. Before the complete annihilation of entire Starfleet ships of crews and cadets who had so much to look forward to, to live for.

"I'm sorry, Gaila," he whispers, barely audible, his vision a searing blur of red and green and yellow.

"You said that was so weird." She angles her head to one side, and there's something unnatural about it that sends a chill through Jim's immobilized, limp body. Like her neck is broken. "That's all I was to you: _weird_."

 _That's not true_ , he whispers, soundless. _I'm sorry, Gaila. I'm so sorry_.

Something hot and wet rolls down his cheeks.

"Yeah. Sure you are, Jimmy-boy. Easy for you to say when you're alive and you got everything you wanted. While I'm dead."

Jim squeezes his burning eyes shut. More hot trails roll down his cheeks.

"You know you don't deserve any of it. Spock, T'Aman, your t'hai'la bond. Your crew and your ship. Your _fans_. You don't deserve any of it, you lying Omega slut. You never _earned_ it. You should have died instead of me, instead of all of us. The universe would be so much better without you."

Jim turns his head away, but still he hears her voice. He hears the truth in her calmly and quietly stated words.

He cries, alone and vulnerable and impaled, long after Gaila is gone. He quivers with each sob. He quivers with pain, his old friend, his most honest and cruel friend.

He drifts on and on for many more eternities.

When he peels open sore, damp eyes once more, he sees someone familiar in a blue tunic and black pants and boots, bearing a medical tricorder and an emergency kit. Someone who deems him best friend and brother, who's loved him from the moment they met although it'll be denied even upon threat of torture.

"Jim! My god, Jim."

 _Bones_ , Jim says, but his lips do not move at all. He can't move anything. He can't feel anything.

Bones kneels next to him on his left and opens up the emergency medical kit while swiftly scanning him with the tricorder. Behind Bones, Jim sees someone else appear into view, someone also familiar in a blue tunic and black pants and boots. He sees someone who deems him best friend and brother-in-arms, who's loved him from the moment they met and always will, even beyond death. He sees his husband. His bondmate. His life-long companion and lover. His t'hai'la and the father of their sweet, little baby girl.

He sees someone who loves him even when there is nothing about him that is worthy of love. Someone who is everything beautiful and real and necessary in his life even when he deserves none of it.

"Spock," he croaks, and his lips contort along with his face and again, hot trails roll down his cheeks.

"You're going to be fine, Jim," Bones says, calmly and quietly and kindly. "You're going to be just fine. We're getting you out of here. You hear me?"

Jim stares and stares up at Spock who kneels to his right and presses a large, warm hand to the side of his face, brushing away the wetness from his cheek with a thumb.

"Jim," Spock says with that low, resonant voice, gazing down at him with that Vulcan-blank, handsome face, with those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes so intense with concern. "You are safe."

Slowly, gradually, the dull, featureless whiteness of their shared mindspace gives way to the familiar sunlit vista of their vast purple-trunked, green-leafed forest upon sizzling, red sand and winding, cool rivers. In the distance, Jim sees a sky-high, colossal gray wall of storms held at bay, a mental manifestation that Jim understands by now is of his pain being blocked from him by Spock. Jim feels Spock wrap him snugly in soothing warmth, in immeasurable love. It dulls whatever suffering he still feels to a distant roar that can't touch him.

"I don't know what the hell this thing is, but I think it's alive," Jim hears Bones say. "I sure hope it's not attached to something _bigger_ underground."

Jim stares on at Spock with hazy, stinging eyes at half-mast as he hears someone out of sight say, "Scans indicate it's a plant, Dr. McCoy."

"Well, I'm gonna have to _cut_ it if we want to get our captain out."

Jim stares on at Spock even as Spock glances away to say to Bones, "Do what you must."

"Okay. You doing your Vulcan hoodoo thing? I'm giving him a hypo, but it'll just take the edge off."

"Yes. Jim is feeling no pain."

"Okay. Good."

Jim feels the pressure of something round and hard on the side of his neck. He feels nothing when he hears the hissing noise of a hypo being depressed. Spock is gazing down at him once more, cupping his cheek with one hand and holding the back of his head with the other.

"Jim has no head injuries that I can see or feel, Leonard."

"Tricorder says he doesn't have a concussion. Then again, I know nothing about your Vulcan mental gymnastics with Jim and what affects it."

"Jim was … hallucinating."

"You can _tell_ that through your bond? Damn." Jim hears the scuffing noises of boot soles upon gravel. "Hm. There's some kind of _sap_ coming out of this plant-thing. Could be toxic. Hey, Rogers, right? Take a sample of this. We need to know what it is."

Jim stares up at Spock unblinkingly. He wants to lift his hand to touch Spock's face, to touch Spock's supple, green-tinged lips. He wants to say, _thank you_. He wants to say, _there's no greater love than to lay down your life for your friend, and you've done it so many times for me_.

"Okay, Sulu, hold onto his leg. Like this. Yeah, that's fine."

He wants to say, _I know how much you love me, and I don't know why, I don't know_.

"I'm cutting through the damn thing now. Keep him steady, Spock."

He wants to say, _stay with me, k'diwa_.

"God _damnit_ , what _is_ this crap? Worse than corn syrup."

He wants to say, _don't leave me, Spock, don't leave me like everyone else has_.

{Ka'i, ashayam,} Spock says to him, gazing down at him with those loving, serene eyes, caressing the mound of his cheek with a thumb. {I am right here, Jim. I am with you.}

"Okay … okay, let's lift him up slow, _slow_. It's damn close to his femoral artery – _Slow_!"

Jim suddenly shivers hard. He still feels no pain, but he's cold again. He's so cold and he can't stop shivering. His heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest. His eyelids flutter even as he tries to stare on at Spock's Vulcan-blank, handsome, familiar face. He sucks in a long, shallow breath.

"Leonard," Spock says, his loving, serene eyes going wide and round.

"Shit, he's going into shock – Spock, you keep that hoodoo thing going! Sulu, Rogers, you keep that bandage _tight_ around his thigh!"

Jim stares on and on and on at Spock, at his cherished t'hai'la, even as darkness seeps into the edges of his blurring vision. Bones' brusque orders become garbled nonsense to Jim's ears. He's unable to keep his eyes open anymore and they fall shut despite Spock speaking to him, saying something to him with such a distressed voice.

 _I'm sorry, Spock. I'm so sorry_.

He plummets into utter darkness.

There's no bright light at the end of a tunnel. No loving, serene voices greeting him and welcoming him into some heaven or another. No tormented screams or vicious laughter either to greet and welcome him into hell. There's only utter darkness, still. Only the muted sounds of constant beeps and a door sliding open and shut. Only the weaved warmth of blankets up to his shoulders. Only the gentle touch of tiny fingers to his face, the gentle press of a chubby cheek to his and a small, chunky arm enfolding his neck.

 _Dadda, wake up_.

Jim's eyes snap open. He stares up and sees the white, sterile ceiling of the Enterprise's sickbay. He feels the small prongs of a nasal cannula in his nostrils. He feels its smooth, cool length snaking across his cheeks and behind his ears. He blinks owlishly. He blinks again, then carefully turns his head to his right on a plump pillow.

He comes face to face with a slumbering T'Aman. His little baby girl, over three years old now, is lying on her tummy with her head of lush, space-black curls resting on his pillow. He can now feel her right arm around his neck, embracing him. Holding him together. Keeping him safe.

His sweet, smart, little baby girl, who is his even when he doesn't deserve a daughter as perfect as her.

He stares at her enchanting, innocent face, even as his vision goes hazy and hot and wet. He stares at her for an eternity. He stares at her and is unaware of her Vulcan father being in the room with them, of Spock sitting on the side of the bio-bed beside Jim's right hip until Spock caresses his bristly cheek with long, exquisite, adept fingers.

Jim tears his eyes away from their daughter to gaze up at Spock. Spock is gazing at him with those loving, serene, familiar eyes that smile at him when the rest of Spock's face do not.

"They were simply hallucinations, Jim," Spock murmurs after another eternity of easy hush, of Spock gripping his hand that had slid out from beneath the blankets. "Resulting from the mild toxin in the plant's sap."

Jim doesn't reply Spock, not for a long time. Jim turns his head to stare at T'Aman once more. She's still sound asleep, her long lashes brushing her green-tinged cheeks, her lips bowed up. She's so beautiful and real and necessary and perfect. She's everything a father could wish for a child. She's everything.

"Nam-tor wak vah yut s'vesht na'fa'wak heh pla'rak," Jim whispers to Spock, staring at their baby girl, knowing Spock can easily hear him with keen Vulcan hearing. _Time is a path from the past to the future and back again_.

Silent minutes pass as Spock considers the statement, the reciting of Surak's words, and of Jim's choice of it as a response.

"And what is the present?" Spock says. "I'wak mesukh-yut t'on." _The present is the crossroads of both_.

When Jim says nothing in reply, Spock entwines their fingers on top of the blankets between them.

"In this moment, you believe that you are fated to become the man you once were, again. You believe that what we have is temporary despite how much you yearn for it to be the opposite. That what we have is what you do not deserve to have due to your perceived past sins."

Jim continues to stare at T'Aman. His throat works in a long and sore swallow.

"Do you remember what I said to you? In our apartment near the Academy?" Jim bites his lower lip. It is enough of an answer to Spock, who then says with that low, resonant, reverent voice, "I was tasked with a most crucial vocation from the moment we met: to love you with all I have each and every day, and to remind you each and every day that you are perfect as you are and will always be worthy of love and respect. I will not stop until _you_ believe this also. I will not stop even after. A mission for a lifetime, if it must be so."

Jim bites his lower lip harder. T'Aman's face is a round blob of blurred colors. In the shared mindspace with Spock, he feels his bondmate's presence wrap around him like a cloak, like a welcoming, permanent shelter from the storm.

"You have so much to look forward to, my Jim," Spock murmurs, stroking their index and middle fingers together. "You have so much to live for, my t'hai'la."

Jim doesn't look at Spock, but he tightens his fingers around Spock's. It probably borders on painful for a Human. Not for a Vulcan. Certainly not for a Vulcan who loves him even more than his frail, fear-filtered Human heart can ever love anything and anyone.

At that moment, T'Aman curls her legs towards her body and withdraws her arm from around Jim's neck. Jim watches her rub her eyes with tiny, gentle fingers. He listens to her let out a soft sigh. He holds onto Spock's hand on the blankets as T'Aman opens her big blue eyes -so much like his, just like his – and gazes at him with them.

Her sweet, enchanting face brightens up with a smile that draws a similar smile onto Jim's face and from within Spock's crinkled eyes.

"Dadda," she says calmly and quietly, as if afraid that she will hurt him if she speaks any louder.

"Hey, sugar-bug," Jim murmurs, touching their foreheads together. "Did you have a good nap?"

T'Aman rubs her forehead against her Daddy's and touches his cheek with one small hand. Then she raises herself upright with those small hands on the bed, still gazing at him with warm, happy eyes.

"Ha," she replies. Her smile wanes into a slight frown of worry. "Dadda, you were sleeping a long time." She tilts her head just like her Vulcan father does, and it's devastatingly adorable to Jim. "Are you okay?"

"Dungi shetau nash-veh weht-muhl," he says, not only to T'Aman but to her Vulcan father, tightening his fingers around Spock's again. "Ugau nash-veh, kan-bu." _I am going to get better_. _I promise, baby_.

Spock, knowing this, says with the raising of one highly angular eyebrow, "I am not a kan-bu, Jim."

T'Aman bursts into giggles and rolls around to face Spock with an impish smile.

"Sa-mekh is a giant kan-bu!" she exclaims. "Like me!"

And how else can Jim respond to that, really, other than burst into his own fit of amused giggles while Spock aims a mock stern expression at their still-giggling daughter and Spock's twinkling eyes crinkle even more?

He knows Spock will insist on them further discussing his screwed up mindset about himself later on. He knows this will be far from the last time that he kicks himself down to the ground and tries to sabotage himself and deny himself anything good and beautiful and real. To wallow in old pain, in old ghosts who can now only hurt him when he lets them. When he forgets how much he has to look forward to as the man he is now. To live for.

But in this moment, this very moment while his sweet, little baby girl laughs and leans on him so trustingly, while his wise, gorgeous Vulcan mate smiles at them both with sun-bright, soulful eyes, he and pain are total strangers. He knows what it's like to hurt but it isn't all that he knows. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to mention this about Gaila - I like Gaila! Her portrayal here is no indication of what I think about her character at all. Rather, it's what I think _Jim_ would see if his mind had been negatively influenced by lots of pain and alien toxic sap and years of buried guilt over his manipulation of her and her subsequent death. (Not to mention a lifetime of self-loathing over being an Omega.) Even after the conversation with Nyota about Gaila, I doubt that Jim would be able to let go of his guilt over never apologizing to Gaila for using her and never having the chance to make amends.


	18. Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, let us return to the happy present where Spock's illogic is revealed and T'Aman decides her unborn baby brother's name and this little family realizes how plomeek-obsessed they are.
> 
> This takes place about a few days after Chapter 15: Number Two. 
> 
> Soundtrack: [Benjamin Button OST - Love Returns](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EM1zg-vydg).

"Did you know, baby brother, that plomeek is almost like seaweed on Earth?"

Lounging on the plush couch in their living room after a simple albeit delicious dinner cooked by Spock, Jim smiles softly down at T'Aman as she curls up against his rotund belly and pets it with one hand. She's facing him and dressed in one of her casual, flowing Vulcan robes.

"Plomeek soup is Daddy's favorite soup," T'Aman babbles on, pressing her still chubby, green-tinged cheek and pointed ear to his belly over his stretched white t-shirt. "Sometimes Daddy eats it with a little bit of basil. That is another plant on Earth that is yummy."

Jim is over six months pregnant with his second child, and even now, there isn't a day that goes by that he isn't bowled over by that. T'Aman had been deemed a miracle even by Bones. An impossibility by Vulcan doctors who had deemed Spock to be an impossibility too. For Jim to be bearing Spock a second child, 'miracle' doesn't even begin to describe the situation.

Maybe, _maybe_ there really is somebody high up in the sky who really, really loves Jim after all.

"Sa-mekh like to eats plomeek soup too, but Sa-mekh also says he does not like or dislike any food." T'Aman presses her cheek more against Jim's round belly and stage-whispers, "Sa-mekh can be very illogical sometimes."

His lips tremoring with held-in mirth, Jim glances at Spock who is in the kitchen rinsing their used plates and utensils to be placed into the dish-washing machine. The open plan of their home allows Jim to see Spock calmly and efficiently move around the kitchen. Spock is also attired in casual Vulcan robes. His Vulcan hearing is sharp enough that Jim knows he's clearly heard their daughter's comment.

Indeed, Spock glances in their direction with one raised, highly angular eyebrow at T'Aman.

"I am not illogical," Spock says, his face stern but his big, brilliant deep brown eyes twinkling and crinkled. "I am Vulcan."

Jim's features shift into an amused, warm smile as T'Aman turns around on the couch to face Spock and lets out a sprightly laugh.

"Yes, you are! You are very illogical sometimes, Sa-mekh," T'Aman exclaims, leaning back against Jim's belly while Jim strokes her luxuriant, space-black curls with one hand. "Just 32.4 hours ago during breakfast, you said, 'It is illogical to prefer one food over another,' and yet, you ate Daddy's plomeek soup when Daddy could not finish it and you did not have to! That means you _like_ plomeek soup!"

Jim had thought himself able to rein in his mirth, until T'Aman's amazingly accurate impersonation of Spock, his stern facial expression and low voice and all. He explodes into vivacious guffaws upon her last exclaimed word, his eyes squeezed shut, his face flushed. T'Aman, who can never resist her Human father's laughter, erupts into her own sprightly laughter again and rolls around to look at her Daddy who is now smacking one hand on the couch's cushion. She, in turn, playfully stomps her bare feet on the same cushion and glances at Spock again.

Through his mental bond with Spock, Jim senses his Vulcan mate's amusement too. And affection. And love, so much of it, so much that Jim is almost overwhelmed by its vastness, its _certainty_.

"Your argument is invalid," Spock replies, his face still outwardly stern, his eyes twinkling even more. "Eating Daddy's leftover plomeek soup simply indicates my wise decision to feed my body with more nutrients while avoiding any wastefulness."

T'Aman retorts while grinning, " _Your_ argument is invalid, Sa-mekh! I had leftover fruits but you did not eat them! You only ate Daddy's plomeek soup!"

Jim lets out another peal of laughter when Spock gives him a deadpan, pointed look that says, _she inherited her sassiness from_ you, _do not deny it_.

"It is illogical to eat more than what you can, T'Aman," Spock then says, raising his eyebrow at her again.

"Still! You picked plomeek soup over fruits!" T'Aman lifts both arms straight up into the air above her head in an unmistakable victory pose. "My argument is the winner!"

Spock merely raises his eyebrow higher, his crinkled eyes twinkling once more.

Jim covers his mouth with one hand but it does nothing to muffle his amused chuckles. He feels a wave of warmth emanate from the little baby boy growing inside him, the same warmth that he would feel from T'Aman when he was pregnant with her. He can already tell his little boy is going to be an absolute sweetheart like his little girl, his little girl who's growing so fast into a big girl.

Jim rubs the curve of his belly with his left hand as T'Aman rolls back to press her cheek and ear to it.

"See, baby brother, I am correct. Daddy and Sa-mekh like plomeek soup. And so do I!"

Jim cards his fingers through T'Aman's hair and smiles down even more softly at her.

"I think you will like plomeek soup too," T'Aman says, quieter, petting Jim's belly with slow, gentle strokes of her palm. "I think you will like many things like me and we will do many fun things together."

Jim doesn't look up from T'Aman when Spock joins them on the couch. He leans into Spock's embrace after Spock encloses a sinewy, strong arm around his shoulders, resting his head against Spock's. T'Aman straightens her legs and rests them on Spock's lap without hesitation. She giggles at Spock gripping her feet and tickling their soles, flailing against Jim's round belly.

A minute, an eon, an eternal second in time later, T'Aman is curled up against Jim's belly once more, smiling to herself.

"I cannot wait to meet you, Savel," she murmurs to her unborn baby brother. "We will have so much fun together."

Jim turns his head to look at Spock who also turns his head to look at Jim. Jim bites his lower lip. Spock's face is Vulcan-blank but his eyes are creased and fond. They haven't decided on a name for their son yet, but if T'Aman likes Savel out of all the names on the list … well, then.

"You like that name, honey?" Jim murmurs to T'Aman, caressing her exposed pointed ear with his fingers. "Is that his name?"

"Yes. His name is Savel."

Jim gazes at Spock again, his lips pressed together in a curbed smile. Jim also likes that name most, and he knows that it's in Spock's top three choices. (He still can't believe that Spock's number one choice is _James_.) He still thinks that 'storm-star' is pretty badass name. Yeah, their little guy may very well grow up to become a stormy star who will ensure their days are never, ever boring. Or their little guy may surprise them and turn out to be the opposite of a stormy star. A serene sun, perhaps.

Either way, he knows he will love his son with everything he's got, just like Spock and T'Aman also will.

"Savel, huh?" Jim says to Spock, letting that curbed, tender smile spread across his face.

"Savel, it is," Spock replies, rubbing a thumb on the bare skin of his upper arm under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Jim gazes down at his belly, at T'Aman who gazes back at him with meteor-bright blue eyes just like his.

"Hi, Savel," Jim says to his unborn baby boy who chooses that moment to wriggle inside his womb, as if he heard and understood Jim. "I can't wait to meet you too, stormy star or not."

"See, baby brother," T'Aman says, hugging the ample circumference of Jim's belly, "I am always correct," and Jim lets out another peal of laughter, grateful to have this joy and to share it with his cherished t'hai'la and their sweet, little girl. Grateful to be able to do it at all.


	19. You Smell Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I've been very busy with Real Life lately, hence the slower update. Thank you for your patience and for still reading the story! I appreciate it. 
> 
> Now, let us go back in the past once more, to Spock, Jim and their newborn baby girl moving into their temporary apartment in the Vulcan Consulates after their dramatic earthquake experience ...

Jim is still asleep when Spock lowers him onto the king-sized bed in the master bedroom of their temporary apartment in the Vulcan Consulates. Their newborn daughter is also asleep, bundled in a thick and soft blanket in the snug cradle of Jim's arms. Jim had refused to let go of her from the moment Spock assisted Jim in leaving his hospital bed and room, holding her tightly to his chest despite tottering legs and a face wan from weariness.

_He'll be very protective of her and territorial for days more_ , Leonard had said to Spock next to the aircar that would convey them to their new abode in Sausalito. _If his Omega nesting instincts are strong – and I'm guessing they will be – he'll need you to be close by too. Maybe even stay in bed with him and the baby for hours on end._

Spock had said nothing and simply nodded. He had no complaints about that, not then, not now.

There is nowhere else he would rather be than at his beloved Human mate's side, with their three-day-old baby daughter safe and sound between them.

Spock carefully arranges Jim's limbs so that Jim is comfortable on his back with his legs straightened out. He then arranges two plump pillows to support Jim's upper arms so that Jim can continue to cuddle their baby close to his chest. Throughout this process, Jim remains fast asleep, his face slack and less wan, his chest rising and falling steadily. Jim is certainly exhausted. So is Spock.

Spock unfurls a woolen blanket that had been folded neatly at the foot of the bed and covers Jim with it from toes to chest, gently tucking it around their baby. He sits on the side of the bed next to Jim's left hip. He watches Jim slumber in peace. He watches Jim's eyelids flicker now and then as Jim surfaces to the lowest level of consciousness and turns that golden head to press a kiss to their baby's fragile, warm head. He watches Jim press a shapely nose to their baby's crown. He hears Jim sniff audibly, then again.

Jim is, as Spock's past research of post-birth Omega behavior has informed him, breathing in their child's scent. By holding their baby close to him, Jim is letting her breathe in his scent to know and recognize it, to find immediate comfort in it whenever she smells it.

Spock had the opportunity to breathe in her scent on the day she was born, while he rested on the extended bio-bed he shared with Jim and their baby in the hospital. He had pressed his nose to her fragile, warm crown just like Jim is now. He had shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. He had smelled something flagrant and ambrosial, something that reminded him of honey and petrichor and a blooming pen-gad-kastik and his mother's smile.

He had smelled family. He had smelled home. He had smelled love.

The scents of both Jim and their baby are vivid in Spock's mind and memory as he reaches out to caress her chubby, green-tinged cheek. She is so silken and warm to his fingers. So alive. She is only days old and yet she is greater than the universe itself and she is brighter than the blazing star hanging in the azure sky above them.

He had almost lost her and her Human father to the earthquake that shook San Francisco on the day of her birth. He had almost lost them. Lost himself.

But he did not.

He did not.

Spock stands up and soundlessly saunters over to the other side of the bed. He gingerly climbs onto the bed and lays himself down on his side to face Jim and their baby. He removes the pillow propping up Jim's upper arm and slides into its former space, wrapping one arm around Jim's waist. He lays his head next to his Human mate's on a plump, white pillow. He bows his head enough to sniff their baby's hair. She smells like honey fresh out of the hive. She smells like the finest day of summer without a gray cloud in the sky. She smells like everything beautiful and real and necessary.

Does he smell like that to Jim and their baby?

The question causes Spock to raise his head and gaze at Jim who is still sleeping serenely. His research of Alpha/Beta/Omega Human biology had informed him that all Humans have a unique scent, that Omegas are particularly sensitive to them during heats, that the scents are at their most aromatic when sweating occurs. How then does his scent transmit to Jim and their daughter if he, being a Vulcan, does not sweat at all?

Spock's brow furrow slightly in contemplation. He lifts his right forearm nearer to his face and gazes at it for a moment. He presses his nose to his own skin and sniffs once. He does not smell anything, which is … a disappointing result. He sniffs his skin a second time, his inhalation longer and deeper. He still does not smell anything.

He moves his forearm away from his nose. He gazes at it again for a moment. Then, after opening his mouth, he sticks out his tongue and licks the skin of his forearm near his wrist. Hmm … he does not taste anything. That is … also a disappointing result.

Two seconds later, Spock realizes that Jim's shoulders are shuddering. He glances at Jim to see his Human mate awake and laughing noiselessly, that pulchritudinous face glowing softly with a sleepy smile and heavy-lidded, twinkling eyes as bright as meteors. Jim is no longer pallid. Jim's bunched cheeks are flushed red and hale.

"Did you just _lick_ yourself?" Jim murmurs, a subdued albeit amusement-infused question.

Spock tilts his head and replies as quietly in deference to their slumbering baby, "I am attempting to ascertain whether my scent is discernible to you and our child."

In the warmly-lit, curtained coziness of the bedroom, Jim's visage softens even more.

"Come here," Jim whispers, gazing into Spock's eyes.

Spock lays his head down next to Jim's again. He shuts his eyes as Jim presses that shapely nose to his cheek and inhales long and deep.

"Mmm, spice," Jim murmurs against his skin. "A forest in spring. Red, sizzling sand." Jim sniffs his cheek once more. "And gold. Metallic gold, beaten and vibrating."

With his eyes still shut, Spock slings his arm around Jim's waist again. He feels the bundled, placid warmth of their baby daughter against his arm.

"You know what else you smell like?" Jim whispers.

"What?" Spock whispers in return.

He feels the length of Jim's nose slide against his. He feels Jim's forehead rub against his. He feels Jim's lips upon his, luscious and parted.

"You smell like family. Like home. Like love. You smell like everything beautiful and real and necessary," Jim whispers into his mouth. "You smell like mine."


	20. Boob Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Omega's pregnant body can surprise even the Omega who owns said pregnant body.
> 
> This takes place very soon after Chapter 18: Serenity. Also, do heed the new tags. If those things perturb ya, you may wanna skip this update. Otherwise, it's all good.

After everything he's experienced in his whole life so far – being an Omega man who became the captain of the USS Enterprise, bonding with and marrying a Vulcan who was also his Commander, giving birth to said Vulcan's sweet, lovely, pointy-eared little baby girl and now over six months pregnant with their second child - James Tiberius Kirk is not a man easily surprised by anything the universe throws at him anymore. It takes a _lot_ to make him go _what the fuck_ these days.

"What the fuck?" he mumbles, staring down at his damp white t-shirt after switching on the lamp on his bedside table. "Spock, did you _drool_ on me?"

Spock, who'd been slumbering soundly and facing Jim on his side on the bed, also sits up and pushes the blankets down to a trim waist. Unlike Jim who's wearing a t-shirt and thin, comfy sweatpants, Spock is naked. (Spock runs way hotter – in more ways than one, heh – than Jim does, so Spock always sleeps naked under the covers.) Spock raises one highly angular eyebrow at him.

"I do not drool," Spock replies (predictably). "My head was upon my pillow until I awakened 39 seconds ago."

Jim almost rolls his eyes, but instead sends Spock a look of unconcealed fondness when he sees the adorable bedhead Spock is sporting. Spock's immaculate, space-black hair is mussed on one side while the other side is still neat. The fondness in Jim grows when he recalls, all over again, that he is the only person in the black-velvet star-studded infinity of space to be allowed to see Spock like this. Well, he and their sweet, little baby girl who's growing so damn fast into a big girl. And soon, the new addition to their family, their little storm-star.

Jim glances down at his chest again with a small smile. He tilts his head at the inexplicable streaks of wetness soaking and trailing down his t-shirt which was definitely _dry_ before he and Spock settled into bed together and fell asleep. He tugs his t-shirt taut with both hands. The action wrings out another mumbled, "What the fuck," from him when the soft, white cotton rubs against his nipples. His very, _very_ sensitive and _wet_ nipples.

He and Spock stare down at his now stretched t-shirt. There are two large wet trails, the left one wider than the right. They're parallel and stemming from two round spots that are … precisely where his nipples would be if his t-shirt isn't stretched.

What the _fuck_?

Jim grabs the hem of his t-shirt and yanks it up over his rotund belly and up to his collarbones. His mouth opens into an 'o' shape of surprise as he gapes down at the puffy areolas of his nipples. At the yellow-hued, almost syrupy liquid oozing out of his nipples.

"Jim," Spock says, "You are producing colostrum."

Still wide-eyed and now grimacing, Jim glances at his Vulcan mate while holding up his t-shirt.

"Colostro- _what_?"

Spock rests one long-fingered, warm hand upon the crest of his rotund belly, above their happily sleeping baby boy in his womb. Spock's heavy-lidded, deep brown eyes are crinkled.

"Colostrum. It is a form of milk produced by the mammary glands of Earth mammals during late pregnancy."

Jim gapes at Spock. He probably looks like a dumbass right now, what with his facial expression and him baring his belly and chest like he's on display at some _museum_ or something and his puffy, sensitive nipples _leaking,_ but … is Spock saying what he _thinks_ he is?

" _Milk_ produced by -" Jim shuts his mouth with a hard press of his lips. He blinks a few times. Then, he opens his mouth again to stammer with even wider eyes, "You mean I'm … that my … you mean that I'm gonna _grow boobs that squirt out milk all day long_?"

To Spock's credit – and the fact that Spock is a Vulcan with a lifetime of practice at controlling those handsome, green-tinged features – Spock doesn't crack up laughing. Spock doesn't even smile. At least, not with his lips.

Spock's eyes are even more crinkled as he replies, "Producing colostrum does not guarantee that you will produce breast milk in the future."

Jim glances down at his chest once more. He grimaces at the fresh beads of yellow-hued _milk_ now rolling down from his nipples onto his skin. It's kind of … gross and yet … kind of cool too. Gross-cool.

"This is really weird," he mutters. "This didn't happen when I was pregnant with T'Aman. I mean, Dr. Chaudary told us that most Omegas can lactate but ..." Jim shrugs and makes a face. "I guess I'm one of the few who can't." Jim makes another face. "Couldn't. I dunno."

Spock tilts his head (and it's still as cute as it was the very first time he saw his Vulcan mate do it) with a slightly furrowed brow. Spock glances to one side in contemplation.

"It is possible," Spock says after a while, his eyes lowered, "that the … stress in the months following T'Aman's conception may have physically affected you more than we realized."

Jim frowns at Spock, at the blatantly remorseful albeit still so elegant pose of Spock's body. Oh no, oh _hell_ no, he's not about to let Spock feel _guilty_ about something that happened years ago, about something that resulted in one of the most precious and irreplaceable gifts he of all people in the universe was chosen to bear and bring into existence.

"Spock," Jim says firmly, and his gorgeous Vulcan mate lifts those big, beautiful eyes to his without hesitation. "You realize how _illogical_ it is of you to blame yourself for me not being able to breastfeed T'Aman, right?"

"Is it, Jim?" Spock murmurs and oh, the way Spock says his name with that low, resonant voice still sends a frisson of pleasure tingling down his spine. "You forget that you gave me access to your memories of those months. Then there was also the subsequent conflict with Starfleet over your Omega status and its reveal on a galactic scale when you had hidden it for almost the entirety of your life. It may be an … understatement to describe what you endured as mere stress."

Jim lets go of his t-shirt and cups Spock's cheek and lower jaw with one hand. He isn't sure what expression he's got on his face. From the way Spock's eyes become even more warm and unguarded, from the way Spock turns that handsome, unforgettable face into his palm, it's probably one of those silly, sappy looks that says, _I love you so fucking much that even the sparks in the_ _quarks in my atoms love you_. (Probably silly, sappy look #409, since Spock is apparently keeping track of all of them.)

"It doesn't matter anymore, k'diwa," Jim rasps, stroking the corner of Spock's luscious lips with his thumb. "After all that, we're still here, aren't we? You and me. And T'Aman." Jim's lips curl up into a tender smile. "And in just a couple of months, Savel."

{You and me and T'Aman and Savel,} he says to Spock through their consummate bond. {Us.}

He watches Spock shut those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes. He's still smiling as Spock reaches up to grasp his hand and presses a kiss to the center of his palm.

{You are forgiving, ashayam.}

Jim strokes the swell of Spock's cheek with his thumb in response. He's much more relaxed now. Guess he's stopped freaking out about potentially growing boobs that squirt out milk all day long.

"So hey, if I _do_ end up producing milk later to breastfeed Savel, that's a good thing. If I don't ..." Jim shrugs one shoulder. "That's okay too. T'Aman turned out just fine without my milk."

Spock lets out a soft hum of agreement against his palm. Spock reluctantly releases his hand, and he lowers it onto the rumpled blankets between them. Spock's other hand, which has been on his bare belly all this time, starts to rub soothing circles on it. He glances down at his leaking nipples yet again and sighs heavily, somehow in mild frustration and contentment at the same time.

"If this keeps up, I'm gonna run out of clean shirts soon."

"I believe there are nursing pads available at the market." Spock tilts his head in that damn cute way again. "However, we will have to search for breathable, adhesive ones since you do not wear a bra."

The sudden image that pops into Jim's mind, of wearing black and lacy _lingerie_ , is … not as shocking as he expects. Not even when he imagines himself wearing black, lacy lingerie while _heavily pregnant_.

What he certainly does _not_ expect is the acute flare of desire he senses through his bond with Spock while having said image in his head. Spock's hand goes motionless on his belly.

"You like the idea of me wearing a bra, Spock?" Jim rasps, smirking at his lover, his husband who has visibly become green from forehead to chin. "Maybe in something black and lacy and _sexy_? Hm?"

"Jim," Spock retorts, but it is with an even greener face and gleaming eyes that glance away like those of a naughty boy caught with one hand in a cookie jar.

Jim chuckles with amusement and (impossibly) even more fondness. He leans forward to kiss his Vulcan husband on those luscious, green-tinged lips, then again, then again with a low moan when Spock glides the hand on his belly up to his chest, to his right nipple. He moans louder into Spock's mouth at the gentle press of callused finger pads on his dark pink, puffy areola. He shivers as a fingertip nudges the distended, wet tip of his nipple.

He doesn't realize that he'd shut his eyes until he peels them open just in time to see Spock lift a colostrum-covered fingertip to those luscious, green-tinged lips. He gasps at the sight of Spock's tongue jutting out to lick up the yellow-hued, thick milk.

Spock purses his lips once all the colostrum is gone from his finger and into his mouth. Spock's brow furrows once more while he considers the taste and texture of the thick milk. Jim should not be finding this so _hot_ , but he does. He really does. Spock just _sucked up the milk that came from his nipples_. His - his _boobs_.

"It is rather … bittersweet," Spock says, sucking those wonderful lips in for a second and then opening his mouth to add, "It is very unlike the pasteurized milk of Earth bovine animals. As beneficial to the baby's health as it is, it does not taste very ... appetizing."

"Did you just insult my boob milk?" Jim says, deadpan.

Spock's face is utterly blank, his lips utterly straight.

"What I was also going to say, ashal-veh, is that while it may not be appetizing to me at this point of time, I will change my opinion in the near future." Spock pauses for two seconds. "With a 99.99% chance of said opinion being that your 'boob milk' will be most delectable and surpass all other 'boob milk' in its quality."

Jim's deadpan expression perseveres until Spock says 'boob' a second time. He cracks up into giggles and leans sideways against his Vulcan mate, pressing the side of his face to Spock's. He feels Spock's bare, strong arms wrap around him in a secure embrace. He feels one of Spock's hands upon his belly again, caressing it with slow strokes.

"I made you say 'boob' twice," Jim says another short bout of giggles, uncaring that his chest has drying trails of milk on it. "I bet you're the first Vulcan in history to even say the word."

He doesn't have to look at Spock to know Spock's eyes are creased and twinkling once more.

{We are regularly making history with our deeds and achievements,} Spock says, and despite the lateness of the night beyond the sanctuary of their New Vulcan home, their shared mindspace is a sun-lit, breeze-cool vista of an abiding green-leafed and purple-trunked forest that will only flourish with the passage of time. {What will we do in the coming day that will again prove this true?}

Jim presses his hand over Spock's on his rotund belly. He slides his fingers between Spock's longer ones in an ozh'esta of their own design.

{Tomorrow,} Jim replies decisively, shutting his eyes and yawning at the same time, {we go look for breathable, adhesive breast pads at the market.}

He feels a huff of volcanic breath against his lower cheek. It's the closest thing Jim will ever get to hearing Spock audibly laugh.

{Indeed,} Spock murmurs, laying them both back on their sides on their bed for more slumber, {another day of making history.}


	21. Baby Food of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the legendary captain of the USS Enterprise is unable to persuade his own baby to eat a spoonful of food, Spock ... observes.
> 
> This takes place a few weeks after the third last section in My Golden Sun / Kin-Kur Las’hark T’nash-Veh Part III.

T'Aman, it seems, is being quite obstinate regarding her dinner tonight.

" _T'Amaaaaan_ , look at this yummy, _yummy_ nom-nom!" Spock hears Jim say to their seven-month-old daughter, his meteor-bright blue eyes wide in an expression of outward excitement. Jim is waving a small spoon of what appears to be dark yellow puree in front of her scrunched-up, chubby face. In Jim's other hand is a bowl that is 65% full of the aforementioned puree. "You ate one spoonful just now!"

Dressed in his uniform, Spock stands in the open doorway of T'Aman quarters with their shared bathroom behind him. He holds his left wrist with his right hand behind his back, his spine straight, his shoulders squared. His facial expression is, as usual, befitting of a Vulcan.

He is also endeavoring his best to keep his lips straight and firm as he observes his beloved Human mate attempt valiantly to feed their obstinate, thrashing and whining baby. She is putting in every effort to evade the spoon of puree in Jim's grip. She squeezes her eyes shut – so very much like Jim's, so large and brilliant – and sucks in her lips and swivels her head away every time the spoon approaches her face.

"No!" she squeals, her face still turned away, batting away the spoon with a small, chunky hand.

After successfully saying 'Dadda' to Jim for the first time 2.8 weeks ago, T'Aman has learned to say three more words. One of them is 'no'. It is her second favorite word after 'Dadda', to Jim's chagrin.

"T'Aman, you're a good, little girl, aren't you! Yes, you are! _Yes_ , you are!"

Jim has removed his gold tunic and boots, and is now attired only in his black t-shirt and pants. T'Aman is in a short-sleeved onesie sprinkled with what Leonard had described as 'fat, horned horsies with majestic hair that all little girls like for some unexplainable reason'. (Leonard had laughed boisterously when Spock asked him if these 'fat, horned horsies' were a Human supernatural mystery like the 'Big Guy in the Sky' that supposedly loves Jim very much.) Jim is sitting on the side of what was once Spock's bed before the quarters became T'Aman's and Spock moved into Jim's quarters. T'Aman is seated in her cushioned high chair in front of Jim.

"Come on, sugar-bug, open your mouth," Jim says, attempting once more to feed T'Aman the puree.

T'Aman scrunches up her face even more and whines loudly.

" _No_!"

The corner of Spock's lips twitches for 0.13 seconds. It is evident that the Sweet-Talk Phase has been ineffective. If Jim is following the previous sequence of actions that were effective before, the next phase in Jim's mission to deposit food in T'Aman's mouth will be the Playful Phase.

"T'Aman! Look! Look here!" When T'Aman opens her eyes and is gazing at her Daddy again, Jim grips tightly on the spoon's handle and undulates his hand as well as his muscular arm through the air, making amusing engine-like rumbles from deep within his chest. "Look! It's the Enterprise, and it needs to make an emergency landing!"

T'Aman stares at Jim and the spoon with round, rapt eyes. Jim makes a different although still amusing noise, much like a starship going into warp, and swerves the spoon of puree towards T'Aman's mouth.

"Good girl! Now open up. _Aaaahhhh_ -"

T'Aman seems to be cooperating … right up until the spoon is 3.5 inches away from her lips. At that instant, she recoils and flings her chunky arms up to block the apparently horrid food from going anywhere near her face.

"Dadda! No! No!"

The corners of Spock's lips twitch for 0.18 seconds. Ah. It is evident that the Playful Phase is also ineffective. The next phase is one that Spock cannot help but find quite … fascinating.

"T'Aman," Jim says calmly and coolly, and it is with his Captain voice for this is the Captain Phase, where Jim must resort to his commanding persona that has enthralled countless dignitaries, earned the respect of his crew and peers and, as Leonard would put it, struck the fear of god in enemies near and far.

T'Aman stares at her Daddy again, her eyes wide like, as Leonard would also put it, a shocked deer's caught in headlights.

" _T'Aman_ ," Jim says with narrowed eyes and an outwardly stern expression, "be a _good_ girl and eat your dinner." Jim inhales deeply, then says with his stern expression in place, "Or no kiss attacks tonight for you!"

Spock, with his hands still behind him, grits his teeth and presses his lips into a firmer and straighter line. No, it simply will not do to prove Jim right about Vulcans _smiling_. Or to point out to his Human mate in this moment that it is 99.98% far more likely that Jim will cave in and give their daughter all the kisses she wants long before she caves in. ( _Or_ to point out the fact that the captain of the USS Enterprise, famous across the galaxy for his smooth and eloquent tongue … is unable to persuade a baby to eat a spoonful of food. Spock is indeed a very wise Vulcan who knows better than to say _that_ at any given time, much less now, if he ever wants kiss attacks of his own again.)

T'Aman gawks at Jim, her saliva-coated lips parted, her plump cheeks tinged green (like his, just like his). Both he and Jim are uncertain whether T'Aman truly comprehends every word they say to her, but what they are _very_ certain of is that T'Aman definitely comprehends 'no' and 'kiss attack', her favorite bonding activity with her Human father.

Sure enough, T'Aman's lower lip protrudes in a pout of dissatisfaction and frustration. She lets out a whine gravid with both emotions and glowers at the apparently _horrid_ spoonful of puree if her blatant dislike is a reliable measurement of its quality and taste. Jim moves the puree-laden spoon towards T'Aman's mouth yet again … only for her to avert her face and exclaim, "No! No! No!"

Spock tilts his head, hearing Jim sigh heavily, watching Jim roll those meteor-bright eyes before gazing at their grumpy baby with fond, crinkled eyes. _Ah_. T'Aman dislikes this puree enough to even forego _kiss attacks_. What will Jim choose to do now? This is the first time that the Captain Phase has failed.

Spock raises one eyebrow when Jim abruptly turns away from T'Aman, holding the bowl of puree close to his chest. Jim is now facing Spock but doesn't look at Spock nor acknowledge his presence. The sudden motion captures T'Aman's attention. Once again, she gazes at her Daddy, her eyes lit with curiosity and confusion. Spock is also curious as to why Jim is now seemingly ignoring their baby.

"Okay," Jim says with an outwardly huffy tone, directing the spoonful of puree towards his own mouth and pointedly glancing away from T'Aman. "If _you_ don't wanna eat this _delicious_ meal, _I'll_ eat it all by myself! Hmph!"

Spock is well aware of how creased his eyes must be by now. He silently observes Jim moving the spoon nearer and nearer to a gaping mouth, exaggeratedly slow, peering at T'Aman from the corner of those bright, blue eyes to gauge her reaction. Yes, he will call this particular phase the Reverse Psychology Phase -

The puree enters Jim's mouth. Jim closes his lips around the spoon and then pulls out the spoon. T'Aman does nothing to stop Jim from eating the puree. She stares at Jim as if he is most engrossing, and Jim is …. utterly motionless.

Spock and T'Aman stare unblinkingly at Jim while Jim's eyes widen to comical roundness and Jim's lips purse just as comically. A mere second later, Jim's pulchritudinous face is contorting into an even more comical expression of disgust. Jim glances down at the bowl of puree held to his chest and sticks his tongue out of a grimacing mouth.

"Ugh!" Jim exclaims before - as Jim had termed the peculiar Human action - blowing raspberries in a futile attempt to cleanse his mouth of the confirmed-horrid puree.

T'Aman breaks out into a gleeful giggle.

" _Uuuggghhh_!" Jim exclaims a second time, then blows another raspberry. "And this won the ' _Baby Food of the Year_ ' award?! It's _worse_ than the vege lasagna in the Academy cafeteria!"

Spock does not know what this 'Baby Food of the Year' award is or where Jim had learned of it. (Possibly from those baby magazines that Jim had subscribed out of sheer boredom during their stay in San Francisco.) All he knows about it now is that it is absolutely untrustworthy and that Jim must never accept information from this absolutely unreliable source ever again. (And that he must never tell Jim that he finds the Academy cafeteria's vegetarian lasagna to be … acceptable.)

T'Aman breaks out into another gleeful giggle. Spock is 99.99% certain that it is a smug giggle too.

Jim lets out a (genuinely) huffy, "Blegh!" while he puts the bowl of puree and spoon aside. When he turns back to face a smiling T'Aman, he is also smiling albeit softly and apologetically.

"I'm sorry, baby," Jim murmurs, planting a long and noisy kiss on T'Aman's forehead and caressing her cheek once with the side of one forefinger. "I didn't know it was so bad. I'll get some avocado and banana from the replicator, okay?"

Having already forgiven her Daddy, T'Aman reaches out to pat Jim's cheek and makes a soft, happy noise. Jim kisses her again, this time on the cheek.

Then, Jim turns his head to look at Spock, and now it is Spock's turn to be like a deer caught in headlights. (Except that his expression doesn't change at all and it is with a 100% certainty that Leonard would describe him as a 'green-blooded hobgoblin caught in the boo-boo corner' instead.)

"Mr. Spock," Jim says so very calmly and coolly, his eyes narrowed and sharp, "don't think I haven't noticed you just _standing there_ and _not helping me with our naughty daughter_."

"It appeared that you had everything under control, ashayam," Spock replies, his face utterly blank, his lips utterly straight and his eyes not crinkled in the least. "As always, I have the utmost trust in you to be the effective disciplinarian that our daughter needs for her positive development and dietary requirements."

Jim's eyes narrow even more. Jim can, as both Jim and Leonard would put it, smell the bullcrap from a mile away. (Spock still has no idea why the feces of Earth male bovine animals has anything to do with Human deceit nor why it, of all the types of feces on Earth, was singled out for such an association when all feces stink. He will ask Jim about it one day.)

"No kiss attacks tonight for _you_."

Having already anticipated Jim's response and determined his response to it, Spock saunters into T'Aman's quarters and sits on the side of the bed next to Jim. He cups Jim's lower jaw with both hands and presses his lips to his mate's forehead, then to Jim's lowered eyelids, to that spot between Jim's eyebrows. To the bridge of Jim's nose, then the tip of Jim's shapely nose. To Jim's flushed, warm cheeks. To Jim's dark pink, supple lips that turn tender and welcoming, that mold to his as if they were made solely for him and no one else in this universe. (And they are, they are.)

"You did not say that there will be no kiss attacks for _you_ , my Jim," Spock murmurs once their lips have reluctantly separated and Jim is gazing at him with heavy-lidded, twinkling eyes.

Jim chuckles low with amusement, acknowledging the logic of Spock's statement.

And in front of them, watching her married, bonded fathers with twinkling eyes of her own, T'Aman giggles once more, expressing Spock's contentment on his behalf in that most pleasing Human way.


	22. The Life Cycle of a Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I'm very busy with Real Life as of posting this. Here's an update done with a self-imposed challenge of telling a scene and moment in time using only one sentence. Jim angst and Spirk family feels ahoy!

"Sammy, what was Dad like?" Jim asked, when he was still a little boy, when he didn't understand why his mother preferred clutching an acrid-smelling bottle instead of him, and Sam said while staring sightlessly over his shoulder, "He was really tall and big and strong, and he was always reaching for the stars."

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jimmy, what was your dad like?" the Beta girl from school he'd just fucked on the couch in the Kirk family house – but not _his_ house, never his, Mom made sure to remind him of that – asked, tugging up her pink panties over the swell of her buttocks, and Jim said while staring sightlessly past her bare arm, "He died when I was born among the stars," and then he rasped, "Fuck the stars, I don't need them to fly."

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jim, you ever wondered what your old man would be like?" Bones asked, his voice low and mellow from bourbon, his muscular arm a stanchion of warmth and support against Jim's in the cozy dimness of their Academy dorm room, and Jim whispered while resting his head on Bones' broad shoulder, "Maybe I'll know one day when I find him among the stars that took him."

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jimmy-boy, _oh_ Jimmy-boy, still thinking about your _Daddy_ and whether he would have ever _loved_ you?" Frank asked, grinning at him like a skull peeled of its skin and flesh and Jim knew he was just having a nightmare, knew that Frank's dead and buried six feet under in a cemetery in Riverside but Jim still snarled while sinking his clawed fingers into Frank's bleak, black eye sockets, "You're not him, fuck you, you Alpha bastard, _you're not him_ ," and then Jim awakened, hearing Frank's waning whisper, _you'll never be him either_.

 

<<< >>>

 

"Jim, you are not your father, and you know this, do you not?" Spock asked, cradling his lower jaw with those exquisite, adept, long-fingered hands, stopping him from turning away, ripping away his lifelong-strong walls just by gazing at him with those big, brilliant, deep brown eyes, and Jim rasped while blinking blurred eyes and clutching onto his Vulcan mate's arms, "I'm not him, I'll never be him, I know," and Spock said, "You are you, ashayam, and that is enough."

 

<<< >>>

 

"Dadda, what was Grandpa like?" T'Aman asked, sprawled on her belly upon his chest with her pointed Vulcan ear over his beating heart, and Jim tightened his arms around her fragile, precious body and enveloped one of her tiny, gentle hands in his large, callused one and pressed his cheek to her luxuriant, space-black curls and murmured, "Grandpa had blue eyes just like yours, sugar-bug, a big heart just like yours, and he touched the stars and then he became a star too, shining through the light-years for us to see in the dark."

 

<<< >>>

 

"Glamps?" a blond-haired, brown-eyed Savel asks, patting with a curious, chubby hand the slightly faded color photograph of his Human grandfather that Jim grips and T'Aman, squeezed between Spock and Jim on the couch, strokes her one-year-old baby brother's plump, green-tinged cheek while Jim smiles down at his son on his lap, basking in the sun-bright warmth of his family's contentment through their familial bonds, and says, "Yeah, buddy, that's your Grandpa, and he would have loved you so much too. Just like he loved me."


	23. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us meet the newest addition to the family, and discover his mental capabilities, his character and his profound bonds with his fathers and sister. 
> 
> (I'm warning you all now, this update has several big hints about what you'll be reading about in an upcoming _very_ angsty, big update, set in time before this particular update. It's a deliberate decision for me to reveal bits of the aftermath of these events in this update because, well ... I have a hunch that the starship-loads of pain I will be putting our beloved Spirk family through will _probably_ make some readers want to reach through the screen and strangle me.
> 
> Do let me know any appropriate tags I should add. I haven't added any new ones as of typing this since I'm not sure if I should spoil the future angsty, big update too much.)
> 
> P.S. My gosh, over 2000 kudos! Thank you so much! I appreciate each and every one of them and all of you who've left them for this story.

Savel is five months old today.

Jim knows this because he's counted each and every day since he gave birth to his son in the Uzh-Shi'Kahr Hospital in the center of the swiftly-developing fledgling city. Some of those days had been lost to infection and unconsciousness, marked instead by Spock who'd remained awake and unfailingly vigilant over him and their children along with Bones and Dr. M'Benga.

 _He didn't sleep for_ nineteen days _, Jim_ , Bones had told him when they had the rare opportunity to be alone in his hospital room, while Bones examined him to ensure that he really was healing from the traumatic birth. _M'Benga said it was some new record and that it was damn amazing Spock only needed fifteen hours of a Vulcan trance to heal from that_.

Jim doesn't like recalling the shocking sight of the dark-skinned, reserved albeit kind specialist of Vulcan medicine smacking Spock hard across the face multiple times. He knows now that M'Benga had no other choice, that it was the only way to snap a Vulcan out of a Vulcan trance, but still … it was perturbing.

Equally perturbing is the thought that Savel may accidentally see that particular memory through their already profound mental bond.

"You're such an incredible baby, aren't you, Mr. Squishy?" Jim coos down at his son who gazes up at him with large, deep brown eyes ringed by long, dark lashes. "Yes, you are, and you know it."

He's just finished wrapping and fastening a new diaper on the calm, quiet baby on a pure-white changing table in Savel's bedroom. In only a diaper, Savel's numerous, adorable rolls of fat are on plain display. He even has chubby, green-tinged cheeks that rival his older sister's at the same age. Savel has Spock's eyes, angular eyebrows and such _adorable_ pointed ears, but Savel has Jim's nose and blond hair, golden tufts standing up in amusing directions unless they're brushed or smoothed down with a hand. (Bones once joked that, unlike his Daddy, Savel doesn't even need hair gel to have styled, spiky hair.)

Savel also has, as Spock insistently claims, Jim's smile.

"Are you gonna laugh for Daddy?" Jim murmurs, gently pressing his hands flat on the sides of Savel's round, delicate head and then drawing his hands down the length of Savel's chunky arms and soft flanks and even chunkier legs. "Hmm?"

As Savel stares on at Jim with those radiant eyes so much like his Sa-mekh's, Jim watches his son's little, plump lips slowly curve up into a sweet smile. (Savel's smile is so much more gorgeous than his, it really is.) Savel's cheeks become even rounder. Savel's eyes narrow and twinkle with a contentment that makes Jim's own lips curve up in a tender smile.

It seems just like yesterday that he held his baby boy in his arms for the first time. Just like yesterday, that his baby boy could fit in the palms of his hands and was so small, so fragile. So easily lost to a cruel and cold universe.

Savel smiles up at him.

Savel doesn't make a sound, much less say a word.

Jim's smile stays on his face. It's with some effort that it does, that he doesn't let any of his disappointment and self-loathing seep through their mental bond in any way to his sweet, lovely baby boy.

It's not his baby boy's fault. It's _his_ fault. It has to be.

"Did I do this to you?" Jim whispers, stroking Savel's head again with both hands. "Are you like this because of me?"

Jim's vision begins to blur and turn hot when Savel simply smiles on and gazes up at him with those innocent, trusting eyes, as if he is the entire world, the entire universe. As if he can do no wrong.

 _Jim, it is common for Vulcan babies and children to not laugh at all_ , Spock had said over three months after they were all discharged from the hospital and could finally go home, hugging him tight to that broad chest with those still so very dependable, sinewy arms. _Leonard and M'Benga have examined his vocal chords and deemed them to be fully functional and in normal condition. We will monitor his progress and wait for Savel to speak in his own time. This is_ not _your fault, ashal-veh_.

He really wishes he had Spock's hope in his own heart. He really does. He really wishes he could believe Spock when his Vulcan mate tells him that it isn't his fault that their son is apparently mute. But whose fault _can_ it be except his? He was the one who carried Savel to term. He was the one who'd allowed himself to become so stressed out and _weakened_ by what was happening to T'Aman in the last two months of the pregnancy. He was the weak _loser_ who couldn't even save his sweet, little baby girl himself despite saving _planets_ of other people in the past, who couldn't even shield her from the cruel, cold reality of how _temporary_ life can be -

Jim squeezes his eyes shut. He inhales slowly and deeply, then lets that breath go even more slowly. His hands are loose and loving around Savel's chubby arms. He can sense Spock's concern through their bond, no matter that Spock is all the way in the Science Academy in the city. He doesn't pretend to act that everything's fine with him when it isn't, not when it's Spock, his mate and husband and the father of their children, his _t'hai'la_. He can't, anyway. He can't – and doesn't ever want to – lie through their bond.

{I'm okay, k'diwa,} Jim says, and neither he or Spock comment on how hoarse his mental voice sounds, even to himself. {Okay as I can be.}

Spock says nothing through their bond. However, Jim is swathed by a sudden wave of warmth like sunshine at noon, an honest and undeniable _feeling_ that says more than any words can. Jim relaxes even more in its embrace. He lets out another sigh, his lips curling up into a more genuine smile as he open his eyes and gazes down at his baby boy again.

Spock must be so busy that he can't even talk through their bond, and here's Jim, distracting Spock from important research at the Academy with his stupid angsty bullshit that he should be getting over -

Another wave of warmth from Spock engulfs him, hotter and brighter than the one before. It feels like a thick, cashmere blanket that drives away the cold gloom of winter and lets in the incandescence of summer once more. Jim's smile widens and crinkles his eyes. Savel, who has been gazing up at him all this while, also widens his smile in mimicry.

{Yeah, yeah, I got the point, Spock.}

Jim has to chuckle a bit when he feels a sensation akin to being finger-flicked on the forehead through their bond. Yeah, _yeah_ , he got that point too. He can't do swift mental calculations precise to two decimal places like Spock, but he's still about 99.99% certain that Spock's going to want a _chat_ with him when Spock gets home this evening.

Jim's smile softens as Savel raises two tiny, chunky hands into the air. They clutch at Jim's much larger forearms with a strength that still surprises him time and again.

He's prepared for the flashes of sharp, clear images that Savel projects to him through their mental bond. Although Savel has yet to speak, he's already able to communicate with Jim, Spock and T'Aman via projections of images and emotions. His Vulcan doctors had been astonished (or well, as visibly astonished as Vulcans can appear) by this mental progression. As far as those doctors knew, based on information they had at the time, only 1.3% of all Vulcans have the _possibility_ of developing this ability at such a young age. And to do it with attached emotional context? That's practically unheard of for Vulcans.

The first mental image is of Jim in his casual Vulcan robes, in the backyard of their home on a pellucid day. Jim can see the towering, evergreen trees surrounding their home in the background. He can see the sunlight filtering through their wide, thin leaves and slender, arching branches. Based on the angle and position of Savel's perspective, Jim is confident that this snapshot is from an afternoon last week, when he decided to take Savel outside to the backyard in a portable bouncer and placed the bouncer on the picnic table so he could sit facing his baby. There's something a little _weird_ about seeing himself through Savel's eyes, even smiling broadly and affectionately like he is at Savel in the mental image.

But the immense, warm wave of love that Savel projects immediately in association with the image? No, there's nothing weird about that. It's guaranteed to make a huge lump form in his throat, every time. It's humbling. It's … something he doesn't really deserve, and part of him knows he's an idiot for thinking that, for _believing_ that, but he can't stop, not when every mental projection from his baby boy is a solemn reminder of the muteness that's his fault. (And oh boy, there's that mental finger-flick on his forehead again. Did he think there was only a 99.99% chance of that _chat_ with Spock? More like 100% now.)

The second mental image is of Spock in one of Jim's t-shirts, the white one gone soft and thin from years of use. It's obvious that this snapshot is of the interior of the kitchen during breakfast, from Savel's perspective while seated on his high chair. Spock's hair may be immaculate but Jim knows that t-shirt to be one Spock wears only to sleep. Jim is in the background in a dark blue robe and glancing down at something on the floor. He can't really remember what he was looking at. Spock is gazing at Savel with those big, intense, deep brown eyes. To anyone outside of their family, Spock would appear expressionless. Austere, even.

Jim has to smile wider again when Savel projects an equally immense, warm wave of love in association with this image of his Sa-mekh. Yeah, even Savel can see the same emotion in Spock's crinkled eyes, all of it for their little guy in that one moment.

Then the third mental image flashes into view, and it's this one along with several more that makes that lump in Jim's throat return with a vengeance. They're all of T'Aman. In most of them, she's smiling at her baby brother or captured in instances of vivacious talking, her mouth open and her hands gesticulating in the air. Jim knows how much T'Aman enjoys interacting with Savel. She tells him everything that happens at school, from who her best friends are (T'Aloren, Metana, Stavik) to which classes are her favorites (the sciences and Vulcan history, unsurprisingly, and Vulcan music and dance, also unsurprisingly) to what she and her friends eat for lunch (plomeek, _lots_ of plomeek). She also talks to Savel about random thoughts that occur to her, like why Earth burgers are better than Vulcan vegetarian ones, like why Human ears are round while Vulcan ears are pointed.

Like why people have to fall sick and feel pain. Like where people go when they die.

Jim isn't sure when the mental image of T'Aman he's seeing now is from, but her pensive, somber expression is one no child should ever have. She's seated next to one of the wide, tall living room windows and gazing through it into the far distance, at a horizon no one can see except her. The vivid purples and oranges of a sunset cast a fraction of her round, familiar face in dark shadows while lighting the rest of it with a natural warmth that belies the bleakness in T'Aman's eyes.

The bleakness is an old friend to Jim. He had seen it in his own eyes in the mirror, in the days after he awakened from his two-week coma as a result of Bones injecting Khan's superhuman blood into him. From his death due to radiation poisoning.

Her eyes are now just like his in more ways than one. No child should ever have to look like T'Aman does in this mental image. No child should ever have to know the horror of impending death, to know that their time to be alive is truly limited, to know all the marvelous, rewarding things that they will never be able to do.

No child should ever have to accept that death calmly and quietly. To say goodbye to their parents and other loved ones for the last time.

"Daddy?"

Jim snaps open eyes that he hadn't realized he'd shut again. His sight is hazy and stinging as he turns around to see T'Aman standing in the open doorway of Savel's bedroom that's perpendicular to the changing table. She's attired in her favorite rainbow-colored t-shirt and dark blue dungarees. She's barefoot (because she likes the sensation of the carpet beneath her soles.) She brushes her own hair nowadays and today, it's a riot of space-black curls tucked behind her pointed ears.

T'Aman doesn't call him Dadda anymore. His little girl is growing up so fast into a big girl.

"Daddy?"

Jim gazes at her and blinks. She looks concerned, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a line. He gazes at her and he tries not to think about how, just over five months ago, a portion of her hair had been shaved off. He tries not to think about the healed incision that new hair is concealing from view now. He tries not to think about what Bones and M'Benga had to do to save her life, about the surgical lasers and the peeling of her scalp and the removal of _pieces of her_.

About the multitude of tubes going in and out of her limp, comatose body on the hospital bed. The ventilator breathing for her. The beeping noises of the medical paraphernalia that surrounded her.

The green rivers of blood that snaked down her ashen face and neck from her nose and ears, just before she collapsed and didn't get up again.

 _Goodbye, Daddy. I love you. Soon I will become a star like Grandpa, too, and I will shine through the light-years for you and Sa-mekh and Savel to see in the dark_.

Jim gazes at his beloved daughter who's alive and well and standing right before him, and he blinks hard, then again when his eyes still aren't clear and dry enough.

"Hey, sugar-bug," he rasps when he finally can without his voice cracking, turning back to Savel who's docile as usual on his back on the changing table, sucking on a chunky fist. "I'm just changing Savel's diaper. Are you okay?"

"Yes, Daddy. I am okay." A pause, then T'Aman asks softly, "Are you okay?"

Jim doesn't glance back at T'Aman. He fidgets with adhesives on Savel's diaper that don't need any more adjusting. He rubs at the skin under his eyes with his thumb and it comes away damp.

"Yeah, baby. I'll be okay."

His voice is firmer now. He doesn't know whether T'Aman can still hear it wavering, but he does know what happens when he calls T'Aman a baby these days.

"I am not the baby anymore," T'Aman replies as predicted. "Savel is!"

Jim's chuckle at that is a genuine one, gravelly as it is. He grips Savel under the arms and easily lifts his big, chubby baby boy up into his arms. Savel smiles broadly at being closer to his Daddy, letting out a heavy huff of breath akin to Spock's volcanic, soundless one. It's the closest Savel has come yet to making a sound. Savel hadn't even cried when he was born, so calm and so quiet and breathing just fine on his own without any intervention from Bones.

Jim holds Savel close to his face and chest and plants a long, noisy kiss on one chunky, green-tinged cheek. Savel lets out that heavy huff of breath again and shows Jim a gummy grin, which makes Jim give him another long, noisy kiss on the other cheek. He nuzzles Savel's blond hair and breathes in his son's flagrant scent. It's quite similar to T'Aman's and yet not, spicy and wood-like like Spock's and yet also like honey and a whiff of mint. He loves it just like he loves Spock's and T'Aman's scents. They smell like family. They smell like home. They smell like everything beautiful and real and necessary to him.

Savel also grins at T'Aman when Jim saunters over to the other side of the room to tuck Savel into a bouncer on the carpeted floor, near the crib and a cushioned rocking chair. T'Aman darts into the room with a gratified smile of her own, sitting down next to the bouncer and reaching for Savel's tiny, chunky hand in greeting.

Once upon a time, T'Aman's hand had been that tiny and chunky too. Once upon a time, she'd fitted into a bouncer just like this one too, giggling away while Jim made the bouncer bob up and down and laughed with her.

"Tonk'peh, little brother." _Hello_.

Savel makes no sound but smiles up at T'Aman, his brilliant, deep brown eyes twinkling just like his older sister's meteor-bright, blue ones. Savel encloses such tiny, gentle fingers around his sister's. They gaze at each other silently, unblinkingly. Jim knows at this point that T'Aman and Savel are communicating telepathically, Savel projecting images and emotions at T'Aman and T'Aman projecting thoughts and emotions in return. T'Aman is able to do it at a speed that even Spock is incapable of for now, as if she already understands Savel's thinking and communication like a language unique to the two of them.

It does make sense to Jim in a way. T'Aman and Savel are, after all, the only Human-Vulcan children currently in existence. The children of a Human-Vulcan father and a (very possibly _enhanced_ ) male Omega father, no less.

Seated on the floor in front of the bouncer and next to T'Aman, Jim observes his children with a slight albeit fond smile. They're so much like Spock in their physical appearances and mannerisms. Yet, they're also so much like him in those aspects, each of them an individual amalgamation of their fathers. The very best of them both, he tells Spock often.

T'Aman and Savel stare at each other for another minute. Then, Jim sees T'Aman's eyes widen. Still grasping Savel's hand, she swivels her head of luxuriant, space-black curls towards him, gazing at him with those wide eyes. Savel must have shown her something unexpected. Or worrying.

Jim is opening his mouth to ask her what's wrong when she jumps to her bare feet and embraces his torso with both arms, hugging him as tightly as she can. In the few seconds it takes for Jim to hug her back with both arms too, he realizes that Savel must have shown her a mental image of _him_ that, for some reason, has upset her.

"T'Aman? What's wrong, honey?" he asks into her dense curls, rubbing her back with one hand.

T'Aman leans back just enough to gaze up at him with large, empathetic eyes.

"Daddy, you are sad," T'Aman says, and Jim knows right then and there what Savel had probably shown her: a mental image of him looking down at Savel on the changing table mere minutes ago, a thumb not-so-surreptitiously rubbing at the corner of his glistening eyes.

T'Aman stretches up one small, so very gentle hand to his cheek and strokes it and yeah, that's it. That's all it takes for the eyes of former Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise to well up like a big baby's. (Again.) He gives her a bittersweet smile, the most sincere smile he can muster. He cards his fingers through her hair and traces the arch of her pointed ear with his thumb. Sometimes, especially now, he still can't believe that he, of all the people in this cruel, cold yet hope-filled universe, should be so fortunate to have her for a daughter.

"Not when I'm with you and Savel, sugar-bug," he replies, and it's true.

Even as he blinks several times to clear his eyes, he knows that T'Aman knows that too. She smiles up at him. Then, she lowers her hand and steps back, still facing him, her expression turning solemn once more. Solemn and insightful in a way that no child should ever have to be.

"Daddy, you are worried about Savel. About him not speaking yet."

"Yeah, I am," Jim says, and that is also true, for his daughter deserves nothing less than the truth that keeps them in the light where they are safe and free.

T'Aman nods once. She goes back to sitting on the floor next to Savel's bouncer and holding Savel's hand in hers. She gazes at her baby brother in a contemplative hush for a minute or two. Savel glances between his sister and his Daddy, his expression as innocent and endearing as ever. Jim smiles at him and strokes one of his chubby cheeks with the side of a forefinger.

"He is different," T'Aman eventually says, still gazing at Savel who is gazing back at her again. "But that does not mean he is damaged."

Jim stares at T'Aman, at his sweet, intelligent, not-so-little girl. He stares at her with a gigantic lump in his throat and sees the gleam of timeless wisdom in her big blue eyes that are so young and yet so old.

"He is different," T'Aman says a second time. She nods to herself, assured in the validity of her statements about her beloved baby brother. "That is all."

Savel waves his free arm around for a few seconds, as if he understood what his older sister said of him. Then, Savel and T'Aman stare at each other again, communicating privately with each other. Just a few seconds later, T'Aman's lovely face breaks into a jubilant smile.

"Daddy," she says, glancing up at Jim and still smiling. "Look at this."

Jim quickly gets that Savel is projecting a mental image that T'Aman wants him to see. He grasps Savel's other hand and caresses his baby boy's wrist with his thumb. Immediately, Savel is projecting to him a very sharp and colorful mental image of him, Spock and T'Aman in the living room. They're all dressed in casual Vulcan robes, relaxing in the evening after another hearty dinner. There is a short stack of PADDs on the coffee table. Spock, seated next to Jim on the couch, has a PADD in hand and is gazing down at it in typical Vulcan concentration. Jim, in a more indulgent sitting pose, is gazing at Spock with an expression that only an utterly blind person cannot tell is one of adoration and yearning. (Even after all these years, even now.)

T'Aman is much nearer to Savel who is probably in his swing chair in this snapshot, emerging into view from the right as if she's sitting next to Savel. She's looking at her baby brother with warm eyes and a small smile.

Her expression seems to say, _are you happy, little brother_?

The immense, warm, _undeniable_ wave of love, of _contentment_ that Savel projects, as if in response to T'Aman's question, makes that already gigantic lump in Jim's throat grow. Yes, Savel is different from many other babies in this universe in many ways. Yes, Savel is different. Savel is different ... but he is not damaged.

Savel is happy. Savel is happy because T'Aman is happy and their Sa-mekh is happy and their Daddy is happy. Savel is happy and he is loved and he loves them too.

Now, the expressions of Jim's children who are staring at him seem to say, _are you happy, Daddy_?

There is still much pain in him. Pain, his old friend, who still vies for dominance of Jim with his new friend, love. There is still much pain in him despite how much he loves and how much he is loved. There is still much pain in him that may never go away, that will always remind him of how different he is and how _damaged_ he's been by his mistakes, past and current.

But he's learned, gradually, that pain can be defeated by love. Sometimes, pain is merely an indicator of a wound that needs to heal, that merely needs the chance to be healed, given the right treatment.

Sometimes, all it takes for the right treatment is for a sweet, little baby boy to show his Daddy how happy he is just the way he is.

Jim reaches down for Savel and removes his baby boy from the bouncer to clutch him tightly with both arms. Savel instantly curls up against Jim's chest, shutting those brilliant, deep brown eyes with a soft sigh. Jim presses his cheek upon Savel's crown. He spreads one arm outward for a waiting T'Aman who eagerly throws herself into his embrace. T'Aman also hugs Savel while hugging their Daddy, pressing her cheek to Jim's chest and facing her baby brother.

"Ha, kanlar t'nash-veh," Jim rasps, knowing his daughter and son will recognize his words to be true, knowing that the waves of warmth swathing him are also coming from their Sa-mekh. "Nash-veh kunli. Nash-veh kwon-sum kunli lu nash-veh k'du."

 _Yes, my children. I am happy. I am always happy when I am with you_.


	24. I See You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Oof_ , Real Life has been hitting me hard with work and other dramas. But in the mean time, here's another fluffy chapter featuring our favorite Vulcan and his Human mate and their baby boy, Savel.
> 
> (As for that Big Angsty Update coming up, I'm definitely writing it and ... my gosh, you are all going to need this fluffy update and the preceding 20+ ones. Said Big Angsty Update is making _me_ cry and _I am the one writing it, goddamnit_.)

Jim is playing a Human children's game with Savel called Peek-a-boo.

"Savel? Savel! Where did you go, baby?" Jim says with a soft yet excited voice. He swivels his head from side to side as his wide, blue eyes glance here and there. In a plain white tank top and jeans, he sits with his lower legs tucked beneath him on the carpeted floor in front of the couch upon which Savel is seated upright. "Where did Savel go?"

Savel, now eight months and eleven days old, is dressed in a cream-colored, short-sleeved onesie that bares arms and legs that are, as Jim eloquently puts it, 'super squishy and yummy and rolly-polly like marshmallow'. (Spock is 99.99% certain that their son's limbs do not constitute of 'super squishy, yummy, rolly-polly marshmallow', but he will wisely defer to his Human mate on such important matters.) Savel is clutching a thick, light blue baby towel with two small, chunky hands. The blanket is currently covering Savel's face from the forehead down, concealing it from Jim and Spock.

As Spock stands at one end of the couch with his hands held behind his back, he observes Savel whipping the towel away from a round, green-flushed, smiling face. Savel spreads his arms wide to the side as he does so, his right hand still clutching the towel. His joyful smile expands into a gleeful grin when Jim looks at him again and bounces on the carpeted floor in identical glee.

"Savel!" Jim exclaims, his meteor-bright eyes even wider, grinning back at their baby boy while playfully smacking his hands on the couch cushions on either side of Savel. " _There_ you are!"

Spock, in casual Vulcan robes, tilts his head at an angle and raises one highly angular eyebrow. Jim had played this game with T'Aman as well when she was a baby, while Spock was nearby and observed silently and found the game … fascinating. It is still fascinating to him. And still quite illogical.

Nevertheless, he goes to kneel on the floor next to his beloved mate and also faces their beloved son. Jim gives him a broad smile that is simultaneously impish and affectionate. Savel also smiles at him, with twinkling, deep brown eyes just like his. He feels his own eyes crinkle as Savel twitches pointed ears just like his. Savel then conceals that round, green-flushed, endearing face with the towel again.

Jim gasps. Jim has an exaggerated expression of surprise now, his eyes and his mouth opened wide and round as he glances here and there, anywhere except at Savel.

"Savel! Where did Savel go? Where did baby go!"

Spock gazes at his Human husband for 2.7 seconds. Then he turns his head to gaze at Savel, still with that towel on his face, for 1.9 seconds. Then he turns his head to gaze at his Human husband once more.

With his left hand, he points at Savel and says, "Savel is there."

He fully anticipates Jim's reaction of collapsing that still so very attractive, cherished upper body onto the couch next to Savel while laughing unabashedly at him. His own face remains Vulcan-blank while Jim's becomes flushed and creased with lines of merriment. In their shared mindspace, he feels Jim's happiness – and Savel's – as a wave of sun-bright warmth that envelopes him like a blanket, like safe harbor.

He patiently waits for Jim's laughter to wane, for Jim to struggle back upright and rub those exquisite eyes with fingertips and say good-naturedly, "Of course I know he's there, Spock!" Jim then lowers his hands as well as his voice and whispers, "But _he_ doesn't know that _we_ know he's there, see?"

Spock gazes again at Savel. Savel has lowered the towel to reveal those large, deep brown eyes. Savel has been watching them. The instant Savel realizes that his Sa-mekh is looking at him, Savel whips the towel over his eyes again with a loud huff of soundless mirth.

Spock feels his eyes crinkle even more. (The tips of his lips may have even quirked up, but he will say nothing of it and neither will Jim.)

Spock raises his eyes over Savel's blond head and says, "I do not see Savel."

It is the truth.

Spock turns his head to the right, seeing Jim covering his mouth with one hand and trying not to laugh aloud. Jim gazes at him with warm and fond eyes as he says, "I do not see Savel."

That is also the truth, while also faithfully playing this fascinating, illogical Human game.

Spock turns his head to the left, seeing from the corner of his eye the towel over Savel's face gradually moving downward.

"I still do not see Savel," he says.

Then, he swivels his head back to face his baby boy and at that moment, Savel whips the towel away with the same flourish and wide, joyful smile.

 _Sa-mekh, I see you_ , Savel's bright, twinkling eyes and smile seem to say. _Do you see me_?

Although Spock is 99.999% certain that his expression remains Vulcan-blank, he is just as certain that his whole visage softens at the mere sight of his son's pure gratification at seeing _him_ again. Savel did not know that he (and Jim) knew he was right there where he always was on the couch. Savel had thought he vanished from sight every time he pulled the blanket over his face. And every time Savel pulled the blanket away, Savel had thought he had returned from the ether, back once more with his parents who sought him and missed him dearly.

Every time, Savel greets them with pure delight and elation, with stars in those eyes so much like his. Every time.

He feels Jim's left hand touching and grasping his right one upon his thigh. He turns his hand to thread their fingers together. He lifts his left hand to card his fingers through Savel's silken, blond hair so much like Jim's, to stroke Savel's chunky, green-tinged cheek that bunches up in another sweet smile.

"Savel," Spock says, with stars in his own eyes, "I see you, sofu t'nash-veh."


	25. I Would Like For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, a new ode from Jim to his beloved Vulcan husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been quite a while since I updated this story, hasn't it? I've been very, very busy with real life and self-publishing. :) But no, I have not forgotten Jim, Spock, T'Aman and Savel.
> 
> Here's more Spirk family fluff as a poem. Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. The story is over a year old! Where did all that time go?

I would like for you to sleep as you do now, our son on your chest,  
your sun-bright soul resting in your body and  
your photon-sharp mind wandering places  
        I cannot be.  
Our son’s lips tremor with a spark of electricity  
and his eyes roll in his dream’s oceans.  


You see the sun in me.  
You say I am the sun, but it is only when  
I am your sun that I shine and life emerges from me.

Our daughter gazes at me while I gaze at you and our son.  
She asks me why I am studying  
the vibrant, green plains of you,  
and I say, “To catch the butterfly of this moment.  
To keep it and remember you, me, us.”  


I would like for her to stay, as she is, as she was.  
I have given her an illogical answer, she says, and  
she is so much like you that  
        I cannot fathom  
a universe without you and her and our son  
like I cannot fathom a universe without  
its suns and constellations.

I would like for us to stay here, now, just like this  
as your long, lush lashes flutter and your deep brown eyes open  
and your pointed ears twitch away the hush.

Hello, you say with all of you,  
with a smile in your eyes as though you are reborn.  
Hello, I say with all of me,  
with my lips on yours as though  
        I am dying.  
Your light revolves in me.  
You inhabit my everything.


	26. Feast of Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I was reminded that Valentine's Day is coming up in a few days. So hey, here are Spock and Jim celebrating V-Day with some very NSFW fun against the front door of their New Vulcan home. 
> 
> P.S. I only realized upon checking the inbox that I haven't received email notifications about comments for _quite_ a while. I'll do my best to reply ASAP, and thank you so, so much for reading this story and leaving such kind, lovely comments and kudos! I really appreciate them all.

Jim is slammed up against the front door of their house after it slides shut behind him. He grunts but he doesn't feel any pain. Spock surges forward to claim his lips, pushing his thighs apart. He whimpers into Spock's hot, wet mouth. Spock's hands are divesting him of his leather jacket, yanking it off his shoulders and down his arms, trapping his arms in its sleeves.

"Oh, fuck," Jim hisses into Spock's mouth, drawing out the words. He shudders from head to toe when Spock's hands glide down his back under his jacket, when they grab his ass and _squeeze_ it. "Fuck."

They're alone in the house. T'Aman and Savel are at Sarek's home in the heart of Uzh-Shi'Kahr. They're spending time with their sa-mekh-al who'd graciously offered to watch over them for the night and next day.

"Yes, I recall this Human celebration of romance," Sarek had said to Jim and Spock when they handed over the kids this afternoon, his visage creased and Vulcan-blank while cuddling a slumbering Savel close to his chest. "The Feast of Saint Valentine. It is fascinating that the torture and execution of a Human man is celebrated by other Humans with greeting cards, confectionary and flowers."

Jim still isn't sure if Sarek was being sardonic or not. But if Spock spoiling Jim with a whole box of rare El-Aurian chocolate and an intimate dinner at lauded restaurant Tullos is anything to go by, Jim will bet on the former. Spock had to have learned those sweet, romantic _Human_ moves from a Vulcan with firsthand experience of courting a Human mate.

It's dark and silent save for Jim's low moans and Spock's heavy, volcanic breaths. Warm illumination cascades from the porch lights through the frosted panel windows flanking the front door. In the shadow of the door, Spock's wide, deep brown eyes are radiant as stars at their apex. Jim has never been stared at with such blatant hunger, even in the six years he and Spock have been mated.

Tonight, Spock wants to devour him whole. Spock's going to kill him with pleasure before the dawn comes. Fuck, _yes_.

Jim tilts his head to offer his lips once more. Spock ravages them and crushes him against the door and the sensations of Spock's fire-hot, muscular body rutting against his root him to a reality that's still too good to be true (but it is, _it is_ ). He lets out a fractured groan at the heavy weight of Spock's erection – that perfect, double-ridged cock like none other - thrusting against his behind the cruel layers of their clothes. He arches away from the door and thrusts again and again as they kiss and lick and bite each other's swollen lips.

He wriggles his arms out of his jacket and hurls it aside. With shaking hands, he and Spock unfasten his jeans and shove them down with his boxer-briefs to his feet in unlaced boots. Hot, viscous slick has already soaked through said boxer-briefs. It rolls down his quivering inner thighs in rivulets. His cock is rigid and red and dripping, smacking once against his belly. He reaches for the fastening of Spock's formal robes but Spock kneels down in front of him instead, the dark brown and black waves of the robes spreading across the floor. Spock shoves the hem of his white tank top up to his underarms.

"Spock," he rasps, and then all rational thought is driven out of his head when Spock licks his cock from hilt to tip and sucks him down.

Jim cries out and seizes handfuls of Spock's immaculate, space-black hair. He smacks his head against the door. Oh, oh god, receiving a blowjob from his gorgeous Vulcan mate never loses its exhilaration, no matter how many times Spock gives it to him. The fact that it's _Spock_ who's taking all of him between those luscious, green-tinged lips, taking him all the way to the back of the throat is destroying him. He's this fucking close to coming from a mere minute of Spock's molten-hot mouth and throat around him. It's humiliating but he doesn't give a damn, not after he hears Spock moan around him and feels Spock's hands gripping his buttocks, pinning him against the door with all that Vulcan strength.

Spock's manhandling him like a freaking toy. Spock can _break_ him with a single move.

He jerks and arches his back, his eyes wrenched shut. His mouth gapes open in a soundless wail. Oh fuck, he's going to blow, he's going to come down Spock's throat and he can't even squeak a verbal warning -

{K'diwa, please ... don't want to – _not yet!_ }

Spock eases back. Spock suckles on the leaking head of his cock and licks its slit with a long, flexible tongue. Through their bond, Jim can sense Spock's heady gratification at his unreserved reactions and thoughts. Their shared mindspace is ablaze in white gold and rippling with heat from the furnace of a star, so volatile is their entwined lust for each other.

He wheezes and strains against Spock's hands gripping his ass. Spock's hands slide from his clenching buttocks to his thighs, spreading them even wider. More slick gushes out of his hole and he shivers with his own gratification. He drowns in the still so very extraordinary, spicy, wood-like scent of his Vulcan mate, letting it turn his blood to rivers of fire in his veins. His hips buck up toward Spock's versed mouth that knows every inch of him.

Spock is staring up at him with those radiant, deep brown eyes. Spock devours him with those eyes while also devouring him with that mouth of velvet heat again, palming the underside of his thighs, gripping the swells of his buttocks again. He gasps as Spock licks and bites his inner thighs. His fingers tighten in Spock's now tousled hair while Spock nuzzles and sucks his drawn-up, full balls. Spock devours him as if Spock hasn't eaten in a thousand years, as if he's the most fucking scrumptious meal in the universe and the one thing that can satisfy Spock's insatiable appetite.

Six years, and they still make love as if it's the first time and the very last, as if Jim is in the throes of Omega heat and Spock in pon'farr.

Spock wraps those luscious, kissable lips around Jim's cock and sucks hard, and Jim forgets how to breathe. He bites his lower lip but it does nothing to stop the exultant cry bursting from his mouth. His eyes pop wide open at the sensation of Spock's fingers sliding up behind his balls, finding his perineum and stroking it, sliding up the cleft of his ass to his slick, aching hole. Spock strokes it over and over, asking for permission to be let in when Spock doesn't need to ask, when Jim will gladly offer and open himself up in his entirety to Spock.

"Fuck, Spock," Jim moans, letting go of Spock's hair and petting his gorgeous Vulcan's head with both hands. "Oh fuck, yes. Yes. _Always_."

Spock releases what sounds like a desperate growl from deep in that broad chest. It rumbles through Jim's trembling, taut body. Spock's lips slide off his cock with a wet, slippery noise. Like a tsunami of fire, Spock rises up to his feet and Jim unfastens and shoves off Spock's robes to the floor. He yanks off his tank top and unlaced boots, kicks off his jeans and boxer-briefs.

Spock isn't wearing any underwear. Spock's cock is still so tremendous and impressive to him, curving up over those silken, dense curls, seeping tasty pre-come that makes Jim lick his lips. He wants that beautiful cock in his mouth, in his throat. He wants that beautiful cock inside him, filling him up and knotting him like no Alpha Human ever can, _breeding_ him again.

"Fuck me, babe," Jim rasps. "Fill me up with all you got."

Spock's large, strong hands cradle the curves of his ass. Spock lifts him clear off his feet and the action alone causes Jim's hole to clench in anticipation, causes him to throw his head back to bare his neck to Spock in willing submission. Spock crushes him even more to the door.

"Oh yeah, _yeah_ , that's it-"

He convulses and lets out a whine at the sharp sensation of Spock biting the side of his neck and then licking it with long, wet swipes. He lets Spock grip the short, spiky hair on the back of his head in a fist, whines again at the bliss of Spock conquering his mouth like a supreme warrior of ancient Vulcan-That-Was claiming his ultimate prize after a vicious battle. He loves it, loves every goddamn moment of surrendering to Spock, his Alpha, his _t'hai'la_.

Gulping for air between kisses, he wraps his legs tight around Spock's hips, his arms around Spock's broad shoulders. His perked nipples graze the dark, lush curls of Spock's chest and another shiver rockets down his bowed spine.

Jim feels Spock's cock nestle in the cleft of his ass. He feels the head of Spock's cock press against the rim of his slick-slippery, ready hole. He moans as Spock's hands grasp his buttocks once more and spread them in a lascivious way.

"Jim, ashayam t'nash-veh," Spock says into his mouth. _My beloved_.

The depth of Spock's enduring emotions that Jim never sees upon Spock's handsome visage, that buoy those words makes him shut his eyes and cling all the more to his Vulcan mate. He sucks in a searing, tremoring breath.

"Ashau nash-veh du, Jim t'nash-veh." _I love you, my Jim_.

"Spock," Jim whispers, as if Spock's name means anything and everything to him, and it is all Spock needs to hear in return.

Like the very first time they made love, Jim's eyes peel open as the head of Spock's cock begins to push inside him. He stares into Spock's unblinking eyes and lets out hoarse gasps as that rounded, double-ridged head pushes past the ring of muscles and expands his hole. After giving birth to two babies, there is no pain whatsoever with this stretching of muscles, only escalating pleasure and need, so much _need_ for his Vulcan husband. He gasps and pushes down on the enormous, thick cock, greedy for its conquest, its slow and relentless slide into him. His breaths quicken and louden when its double ridges graze his sensitive prostate.

Yes, yes, after everything that's happened to him, everything he and Spock have been through, he has this. He and Spock still have this. They will always have this.

Spock grips the back of his spread thighs and pushes in, in, _in_ until he feels Spock's dark, silken pubic hair pressed against his feverish skin. Oh fuck, Spock knows exactly where to aim inside him and those double ridges are shoved hard against his prostate, inescapable and merciless and so damn _perfect_ that it's impossible that he and Spock aren't made for each other and no one else. He swears and writhes in the cradle of Spock's arms. He clenches hard around Spock and arches his back, whining at the friction of Spock's firm abdomen against his cock.

He needs Spock to move, needs Spock to move now and _take him_ -

Spock's hands skim up to Jim's hips. He grabs Spock's shoulder and upper back but he's in no danger of slipping down the door, no danger of Spock slipping out of him. Spock lifts him with ease from Vulcan strength, just enough that a few inches of Spock's cock remains in him. He clenches hard around Spock again, panting and tilting his head back and baring his neck, staring into Spock's blazing eyes that see him, all of him.

A scream of utter rapture rips from his throat at the first thrust. Spock isn't tender tonight. Spock slams into him to the hilt while pulling him down, using his weight to deepen the thrust. Spock doesn't give him time to adjust. He lets out a high-pitch cry with each swift thrust that sends him skidding up the door. His slick smoothens every thrust into a fulfilling, searing glide inside him. Oh god, _oh fuck_ , he needs Spock to be even more ruthless, he needs more, _more_. He weaves his fingers in Spock's hair again. He digs his heels into the muscular mounds of Spock's ass.

{Take me, claim me, make me yours _forever_ -}

{T'nash-veh, Jim. Nam-tor du t'nash-veh.} _Mine, Jim. You are mine_.

Somehow, they work together to get Jim's knees hooked over Spock's elbows. Jim wraps his arms tight around Spock's shoulders and pants against his Vulcan mate's neck with harsh, hot breaths. Spock is somehow _deeper_ in him in this position. Spock keeps thrusting all the while, holding him against the door, slamming unerringly into his tingling prostate over and over. He can't escape even if he wanted to.

At this point in their relationship, they don't have to even say the words to glide into each other's minds. Jim feels Spock's pleasure as his own like Spock is feeling and claiming his. The overlaying sensations of Spock thrusting with such force into him and his inner muscles squeezing around Spock is too much for his senses, too powerful for his orgasm to be held back.

Jim thrashes against the door, against Spock. Jim screams again at another mighty thrust that fills him up so fucking _good_ and _deep_. His head smacks hard on the door but he doesn't feel any pain at all. Spock's hand is cushioning his head, Spock is taking care of him even now, caring for him, loving him, all of him, _all of him_. He doesn't know what pours out of his mouth as the whole length of his beloved Vulcan's cock swells inside him to that almost unbearable yet undeniable fullness, knotting him like no Alpha cock can, filling his empty spaces with warmth and light.

Another rub of Spock's abdomen against his cock, and Jim flies over the edge. This orgasm is unlike any he's experienced in a long, long time. This is a storm the size of a supernova that devastates him. It batters and bruises him from the inside out and rips one last scream of euphoria from his throat. His entire body goes taut and shudders against Spock. He spurts long ropes of come onto his heaving belly with each spasm and oh, _oh_ , Spock is staring at him. Spock has been staring at him the whole time, memorizing every twist and slackening of his face as he comes and spreads open his heart all over again for Spock to claim and keep.

{Ha, nam-tor du t'nash-veh, Jim,} he hears Spock say as Spock comes deep in him, clinging onto him, keeping those brilliant, deep brown eyes open to gaze on and on at him. {Kwon-sum.} _Yes, you are mine, Jim. Always_.

An eon later, Jim is still gasping for breath, his vision a hazy black at the edges. His heart gallops in his chest like the thundering steps of a sehlat (and he knows what a sehlat actually looks and _feels_ like, after Spock shared a memory of his childhood pet on Vulcan-That-Was). He's sweat-sheened and limp and still held up against the door by Spock's solid, scorching body and sinewy, dependable arms, his legs loose around Spock's hips. Spock is still rigid and sheathed inside him. Spock's head is resting upon his shoulder.

He cradles the back of Spock's head with one hand and Spock's nape with the other. He kisses Spock's cheek with all the affection he can muster, then another time. He shuts his eyes and leans his head against Spock's and has never felt more secure, more serene, here in his Vulcan mate's embrace. Jim smiles against Spock's warm, smooth skin. Spock is smiling too, although only in their shared mindspace.

"Should I even bother to claim that Vulcans do not smile, ashayam?"

Jim's smile widens into a fond grin. After Spock raises his head, Jim gently grasps it with both hands. Their lips meet in many long and tender kisses, and when Spock softens and slides out, Jim moans low in disappointment. He lowers his legs from Spock's hips and stands on his toes so he can kiss Spock a few more times.

Spock gazes at him with crinkled, warm eyes. Spock presses that stately nose to his cheek and breathes in deep in a different kind of kiss, one that melts Jim within and yet also sparks hot in his lower belly. There's just something so electrifying about having a mate and lover bigger and so much stronger than him who is capable of such gentleness.

Spock never ceases to surprise him. Spock never ceases to make him feel complete.

"Jim."

Jim slings his arms around Spock's shoulders and presses himself to his Vulcan husband from chest to thighs. Neither of them comment on his come being smeared on both their bellies. They'll be taking a water shower soon enough.

"Yeah?"

Spock's face is Vulcan-blank even as he palms Jim's buttocks with both hands (and is pretty much kissing his ass the Vulcan way).

"I have come to a crucial conclusion," Spock says with a solemn tone. Jim's lips tremor for an instant at the double entendre before he straightens them and dons a deadpan face of his own.

"And what crucial conclusion is that?"

"We must celebrate Valentine's Day at least once a week."

Jim has to suck in his lips to not smile.

"Only once?" he asks after he's taken control of his facial features again.

Spock tilts his head in that eternally adorable way that their children have without a doubt inherited, face still Vulcan-blank.

"The chances of me procuring a new box of El-Aurian chocolates by next week is 0.04%. I will have to resort to Earth chocolate, from Peru or Sweden." Spock straightens his head. "And flowers. When we were in San Francisco 1.3 months ago and we passed that florist, you stared at the red roses 4.7 seconds longer than any of the other flowers on display." Spock raises one highly angular eyebrow. "And perhaps, a greeting card as well."

Jim nods, his expression grave.

"Make sure it's one of those with your face printed on it. You know, the limited edition one Starfleet produced last year to promote its _finest heroes_."

Spock, despite still being Vulcan-blank, sends an unambiguous emotion through their bond that translates to, " _Ugh_."

Jim tosses his head back with a bright laugh of amusement.

 

<<< >>>

 

One year later, Jim wakes up to the sight of Spock's Vulcan-blank visage staring at him from the front face of an upright postcard on the nightstand. Under the photo portrait are the bold, printed words, "Commander Spock," and in smaller words under those is the quote, "A starship runs on loyalty to one man, and nothing can replace it, or him. **"**

Inside the card, Spock had written in black ink: _For everything, there is a first time_.

When Spock walks into the bedroom in those black, sexy silk pajamas with a tray of breakfast, delightful El-Aurian chocolates and a bundle of fresh red roses, Jim doesn't let his beloved t'hai'la out of bed for a long, _long_ time.


	27. Divine Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's Jim worshipping Spock's glorious, double-ridged cock.
> 
> (This takes place the next day after the door sex in the previous chapter.)

Spock is beyond gorgeous in a black, unbuttoned henley and jeans so old and soft it's more white than blue.

"Jim," Spock says, and yeah, Jim will never, ever grow weary of his Vulcan husband's low, resonant voice that still says his name as if he is everything worthwhile in this universe where they are both so fortunate.

"Ha'tha ti'lu, k'diwa," he greets with a smile, with the grasping of Spock's face in his hands, kissing Spock on those still so very luscious, green-tinged lips because he can. _Good morning, half of my heart and soul_.

He loves the way Spock's deep brown eyes crinkle at the sides. He loves the way Spock scours him from head to toe and back with those eyes, stripping him even more bare than he already is. He stands on the carpeted floor of the hallway and stares up at his Vulcan mate with heavy-lidded eyes. The growing heat in Spock's eyes blazes as he leans forward on tiptoes and bumps the tips of their noses.

"Should I have even bothered to dress?" Spock murmurs. "We are never going to have breakfast, at this rate."

Jim chuckles, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead against Spock's. Their children are still with their sa-mekh-al. They've still got the whole house to themselves until the evening, and Jim intends to make _very_ good use of every available intimate second he can get with his mate post-Valentine's Day. Clothes? Who needs clothes when he's got the most gorgeous Vulcan in existence right here in his arms?

"Shoulda stuck with the robes, babe," he rasps into Spock's parted lips. "You know how much I love seeing you in regular Human clothes."

"Indeed," Spock says, and there is no remorse whatsoever in that one word.

A soft peck turns into a multitude of intense, open-mouthed kisses. Spock cradles the curve of his neck with one of those large, warm hands and tugs him close with an arm around his waist. Jim shuts his eyes again in pleasure. He leans against the solid weight of his mate's lean body made even stronger by daily Vulcan martial arts exercises on their back patio. He wraps his arms around Spock's shoulders and runs his fingers through velvety, space-black hair and meets Spock's wet, sweet mouth with his own. Every point of contact lights up his nerves like inescapable lightning. He moans at how right and flawless all this physical contact with Spock still feels after years of being lovers. He was made to be touched by Spock, like Spock was made to be touched by him.

His eyes flutter open as Spock skims the tip of that prominent nose along his stubbly cheek, down to his jawline, to the side of his neck. He lets Spock angle his head to one side with the hand still cradling his neck. Spock's long, lush lashes flick against his skin. Spock's tongue licks stripes of fire over his pulse. He smiles when Spock breathes him in, as if he needs to absorb him into every atom of that familiar, powerful body. The thought of suffusing Spock so thoroughly that he becomes one with the Vulcan sets him ablaze from the inside out.

He responds in kind by dipping his head and pressing his face to the side of Spock's neck. He breathes in his mate's, his _Alpha's_ scent, that so very enticing, spicy, wood-like scent that makes him tremble and ache with an emptiness inside that only Spock can fill, over and over. He drags in quavering breath.

Oh yes, he still wants Spock deep in him. More than ever. _Always_.

"Spock," he whispers into his husband's skin.

They raise their heads. His temple slides against Spock's and then Spock's lips are catching his again. Spock sucks his tongue into that wet, volcanic mouth. He nips Spock's lower lip and bucks his hips, nudging his hard cock against Spock's. He hisses at the barrier of Spock's jeans. He smirks at the hitch of Spock's breath. He nips his mate's lower lip a second time and tugs on it with his teeth. Spock's hand tightens around his nape. A deep rumble emanating from Spock's chest quickens his heartbeat.

"I wanna suck on you. Want you in my mouth and down my throat."

Spock stares at him with those brilliant eyes. Spock's pupils are blown wide open. Jim lets out a laugh of surprise when Spock seizes his ass with both hands, lifts him off his feet and carries him without so much as a grunt. He frames Spock's hips with his bent legs and clings onto broad shoulders all the way to the living room instead of their bedroom.

Ah, Spock wants to make love outside of the bedroom again. He is _so_ damn okay with that. _Oh yes_.

Spock drops him on the cream-colored couch lengthwise and clambers onto him. He laughs again when Spock flattens him on the cushions and nips and sucks at his lips, his jawline and neck like a playful sehlat. He loves it when Spock lets go like this during their lovemaking without the need for pon'farr to fire him up. He grabs Spock's head and kisses him, demanding and hungry on the lips, then again.

"C'mon, babe," he rasps. "Sit up and lemme get on the floor."

Spock moves like the wave of an ocean, grace and energy and tension personified. Jim's mouth waters at the vision of Spock sprawled on the couch with his jeans shoved down to the ankles, lean and sinewy thighs spread, that perfect, double-ridged cock green-tinged and jutting up and seeping pre-come at the tip. It stands out all the more against Spock's black henley, a wicked invitation of hot, heavenly flesh to gorge on.

Spock had fucked him with that cock five times last night and into the early morning. He still can't get enough of it. He's helplessly addicted. He needs it in him in any way he can get. He needs _Spock_ in any and every way, and he feels nothing but pride and joy that _he's_ the one that Spock needs in the same ways.

Jim goes down on his knees between Spock's legs. The dark red rug under the low, oval coffee table cushions his feet. Spock passes him one of the plump pillows on the couch and he smiles up at his chivalrous husband, tucking the pillow under his knees. Spock caresses his cheeks and his head. He grasps Spock's left wrist to kiss his palm.

"Jim."

Spock says his name with a hoarseness that makes him lick his lips and dig his blunt nails into Spock's thigh. He sucks a breath in through his teeth. He feels slick trickle out of his hole and down his inner right thigh. He lets his breath out in a shuddering sigh of bliss as he tenderly encloses his right hand around his mate's cock. He watches the tip bead with more pre-come. The fluid smoothens the slide of his hand up and down the thick shaft. Spock's hands caress his neck and shoulders, his hair. Spock sits motionless but Jim can hear his breath hitch again, then again.

He never tires of seeing and hearing Spock lose control, rare as it is. It turns him on like crazy whenever Spock grabs his hair, when Spock can't help releasing a snarl and thrusts down his throat and makes him choke on it.

Jim moves his hand faster and faster, knowing exactly how his husband likes it. Spock's muscular thighs quiver. Jim bends down and opens his mouth and swallows half of the double-ridged cock in one go. Spock's thicker and longer than any of the previous men he's had sex with in the distant past. He sucks relentlessly, rejoices in Spock's fingers twisting in his hair, in Spock's winded gasp.

"Jim," Spock breathes out.

No matter how many times Jim does this, his Vulcan mate's cock feels deliciously gargantuan in his mouth, stretching his lips and straining his jaw, heavy on his tongue. Spock's scent is overwhelming here. Jim is immersed in it. It rouses in him an animalistic hunger. He wraps his hand around the lower half of Spock's cock so he can stroke it and suck at the same time. Spock's pre-come is hot and zesty and still so fucking sweet. A lavish treat.

Jim sucks and swirls his tongue along the underside of the shaft, back and forth. He lets Spock's flavor flood into him. He lifts up until Spock's cock pops out of his mouth with a lewd sound and then licks the head with great swipes, fixing his eyes on Spock. Spock stares down at him with wide, glimmering eyes of veneration. He smiles with delight at his husband's enjoyment. Yeah, Spock loves to watch him suck on his cock like this, watch his lips pucker and kiss those double ridges that drive him fucking wild whenever they slam into his prostate.

He shuts his eyes and swallows whatever he can until his gag reflex – whatever's left of it at this point – is triggered. His breath rattles through his nose. He hollows his cheeks and Spock's fingers tighten in his hair again. Spock gasps his name again. It echoes in the heated hush of the living room.

He's hard as steel just from going down on Spock. More slick has trickled out of him and down his inner thighs. He's almost savage in how he sucks and swallows when Spock's hips thrust up to plunge that tasty cock deeper down his throat. Yeah, _yeah_ , that's it, he wants Spock to pull his hair too hard just like that, he wants Spock to drive that cock faster, deeper, _deeper_ into him.

Spock lets out a low, fractured moan. Spock's fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair. He makes a strangled noise of disappointment at Spock withdrawing from him. His mouth is drawn up to the double-ridged head and pops off it. He glances up at Spock, a string of saliva joining his tingling lips to the head of his mate's erection. Spock is panting, sinking white teeth into that luscious lower lip and squeezing those large, deep brown eyes shut.

There's his gorgeous Vulcan losing that impassive face, losing control. There he is. So fucking seductive and incandescent.

Jim slides his hand up the rigid shaft and kisses those double ridges again.

"What's wrong, babe? Don't wanna come yet?"

Spock's throat bobs in a long swallow above the ruched collar of the henley. Spock gazes down at him with half-shut, searing eyes and parted, kiss-swollen lips. Spock gazes at him as if he is everything worth killing for, _dying_ for in the universe (and he _knows_ that Spock will do, almost did do those things for him and no one else).

He feels Spock's adept, long fingers stroke his cheek, and just like that, he knows what his husband is asking for. He caresses Spock's flank. Keeping his eyes open, gazing up into unblinking, enraptured eyes, he takes Spock into his mouth again, relaxing his throat, taking and taking his beloved Vulcan into him until his lips are almost touching black curls. Spock fills the entirety of his mouth and sits thick against the back of his throat. He blinks tears from his eyes but he doesn't look away from his mate. He hollows his cheeks and hums.

He watches Spock fight to stop from coming, to keep the waves of their combined pleasure crashing over them through their bond, but it's too much, too much, _too fucking good to stop –_

Spock comes with a soundless roar, jetting ample and hot down his throat. Spock swells and comes and comes and keeps coming, and he swallows and chokes and relishes every breathless second of it. He pulls back until the spurting head is on his tongue where he can taste Spock's ambrosial come and feel it spill past his stretched lips and down his chin. His vision goes white-hot, as does their shared mindspace. He comes untouched in thick globs onto the floor. His orgasm spurs his hips into erratic, taut bucking while he moans around Spock's spurting cock. Nothing compares to receiving Spock into his body, to feeling Spock's body shake against him and listening to his mate say his name like he's a being of glory and beauty and worth.

"Jim, ashal-veh." _Jim, my love_.

Shivers still zigzag down Jim's spine as he sucks on Spock's softening cock. He sucks every delectable drop until Spock gently moves his head back with both hands. Spock hauls him up onto the couch with those large, callused hands under his arms as if he weighs nothing. He sits on Spock's lap with his thighs framing Spock's hips. He breathes in their incredible, mouthwatering scent through his nose and mouth and feels intoxicated with carnal pleasure.

Spock's cheeks are still green-tinged. Spock stares up with gleaming, half-shut eyes at his lips and chin that are smeared with white semen. He rests his hands on Spock's broad shoulders and leans down to kiss his beloved Vulcan. Spock kisses him back and they taste Spock's come on their lips and tongues.

"What you do to me," Spock rasps into his mouth, kissing his lips then his chin then his lips again, stroking his bare flanks. "Even now."

"Same thing you do to me, k'diwa," Jim rasps in return. "Driving me crazy. Making me crave you like a drug for my whole life."

"No. Not a drug. A banquet." Spock nuzzles his neck and licks and sucks on it. "A divine banquet. For me alone."

He feels Spock's hand on his soft cock that still tingles from his fantastic orgasm. Spock glances up at him with warm eyes of worship.

"Of course I came," he says, and it's with dizzy pride. "Loved the way you pulled my hair and shoved your cock into me like I was made to take you."

He hears Spock's chest-deep, reverberating growl of Alpha-like satisfaction, one only Jim has the privilege to hear. He feels Spock's hands slide around his hips to squeeze his buttocks and he grins at his Vulcan.

"My Jim. Mine."

"Yours," he murmurs, cupping Spock's left cheek, his grin gentling into a sweet curl of lips. "Always yours."

Spock yanks him down and kisses him with equal parts of affection and lust and devotion, like no one else can.


	28. A Thousand Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bones visits Jim and Savel at the S'chn T'gai-Kirk family home on New Vulcan. 
> 
> (For a change, this update is written from Bones' point of view. I think readers who like a close friendship between Jim and Bones will enjoy this. Those interested in Savel's birth? You'll read how it went down in this update too. It's a little graphic in description, just a heads up on that in case that's not your thing.)

The S'chn T'gai-Kirk house is unlike anything Bones has seen on Earth. On Earth, it would be deemed a massive, white bungalow with an open-space plan and many rounded walls consisting of paneled or artistically perforated, folding doors, allowing natural light and fresh air to flow inside. The expansive back patio that merges with the rest of the home also merges with a gigantic garden of verdant grass and iridescent flowers, similar to the multi-layered garden in the Enterprise's observation deck. (Last he spoke with Hikaru, now captain of the ship, the garden is still a popular rendezvous for its crew during downtime.) The oval swimming pool with its clusters of lilypad-like plants is a recent addition to the backyard, constructed after the entire S'chn T'gai-Kirk family was discharged from the Uzh-Shi'Kahr Hospital and returned home to fully recuperate from their various medical ordeals.

T'Aman's swift recovery from her multiple brain hemorrhages, seizures, induced deep coma and subsequent neurosurgery was nothing short of miraculous to Bones. There's no precedent for her case on Vulcan-That-Was or on Earth. There's no precedent for _her_ , really, or her baby brother, Savel. He and M'Benga had taken one hell of a risk when they operated on her using old, barbaric 21st century surgical techniques to cut her skull open and remove a portion of her brain. They had no idea what it would do to a telepathic, Vulcan-Human child suffering from constant strokes. They just knew they had to do what they did, or leave T'Aman to die a slow, agonizing death.

Jim, heavily pregnant with Savel and mere days from giving birth, had insisted on watching the operation from the closed surgical observation deck overlooking the operating room. Spock stood next to Jim to the end, and it'd been a damn good thing too, considering how pallid Jim's face had been when Bones glanced up at the couple and gave them two thumbs-up.

Jim went into active labor an hour after the operation. A precipitate delivery, just like T'Aman's. The goddamn idiot had hidden his contractions from Spock and Bones, determined to be with a still-comatose T'Aman as soon as possible, and he might have even succeeded in hiding until he had no choice to push if it hadn't been for Spock's sharp eye and keen sense of smell. Jim had worn robes that day, but all that amniotic fluid had to go _somewhere_ once it gushed out of him.

Bones went from brain surgery on a child to an Omega precipitate birth on the same day. Definitely a new record for his already notable resume. (At least, that's what Starfleet likes to say about his work in his biography. If you ask him, he just does what he has to as a healer. His job's not something to gloat about nor does it make him better than anybody else. He just does what he has to, to save lives and ease pain.) By the time he reached the birthing ward, Jim was in a soundproofed private room, carried there by Spock who at that point hadn't had a wink of sleep for over fourteen days.

He hadn't been there for T'Aman's birth during San Francisco's last major earthquake five years ago but he didn't need to imagine how it went, seeing Jim writhing on the tilted-up birthing bed, groaning with pain and screaming when it was too much even for Jim's incredible pain threshold. He still remembers Jim's equally heart-wrenching screams when he and the rescue team were rushing to retrieve Jim and Spock from the ruins of their apartment building.

Jim, the stubborn brat, had refused all forms of painkiller. Didn't want to drug the baby, Jim said. Didn't want to hurt his baby, didn't want his babies to hurt anymore, Jim pleaded. It drove him and Spock nuts. Well, fine, it drove _him_ nuts with frustration. Ripped him up inside to see his best friend suffer needlessly while Spock maintained that frighteningly blank face and kept trying to do that Vulcan hoodoo thing to remove Jim's pain. He couldn't help feeling intrigued as Spock pressed long, pale fingers to Jim's temple and cheek in a specific arrangement. What goes on in their minds when they telepathically connect? What do they _see_ and _feel_ when they do that?

He never got an answer to those questions. Jim fought Spock like hell even as the poor guy clung onto Spock's forearms to keep the Vulcan close. Jim was delirious by the time he had to push Savel out. He didn't want Spock to hurt himself, he babbled between sobs, didn't want his kids to suffer and he'd take all their pain for them if he could. The stubborn brat. The stubborn, noble, self-sacrificing, loving _brat_.

The three of them were the sole occupants of the room as Savel was born. Spock propped Jim up from behind while Bones sat between Jim's spread legs and guided Jim to breathe and push. Omega precipitate deliveries are notoriously difficult even in the best circumstances: T'Aman's smooth delivery had been another miracle in a long line of miracles in Jim's life, and so Bones wasn't surprised that this time, he had to resort to an episiotomy to assist Jim in safely pushing out a giant baby of a son. Jim was out of his mind with agony by then, panting and shivering, unaware of the hypos of painkiller into raw, stretched flesh or the quick cut that he would later heal with a dermal regenerator. Spock seized the chance to finally do that Vulcan hoodoo, absorbing all of Jim's pain in one shot, turning even more wan than Jim.

After that, Savel was out in three powerful pushes and a mighty roar from Jim. The sweet baby didn't make a sound. Just opened those big, brilliant eyes and didn't need suctioning and wriggled in Bones' gloved hands, testing his newfound freedom in the cool, clean air. Savel didn't make a sound even when Jim crushed him to a concave chest with both arms and bawled those baby blues out. Bones' own eyes had gone pretty damn wet and stinging then. James Tiberius Kirk – former captain of the legendary USS Enterprise, a legend in his own right – was not a man prone to showing any weakness to the world, much less cry himself hoarse in front of others with all his walls pulverized to dust under the burden of immeasurable grief and uncertainty.

And Spock? That pointy-eared, green-blooded hobgoblin, who Bones once also called a heartless machine incapable of ever understanding love?

Spock stayed awake for another four days, sitting at a comatose Jim's bedside in Jim's hospital room, clutching their newborn son close. All the stress and sorrow of the past few months had taken their toll on Jim in the aftermath of the traumatic birth. Jim wouldn't wake up, beyond exhausted, pushed to the limits and then some. Spock refused to sleep, even when Bones threatened to knock him out with a hypo or a punch to the head.

_They need me_ , Spock had simply said to him, gazing at him with glistening, green-rimmed eyes weighed down by bags of weariness. Spine ramrod straight while pale, strong arms cradled that sweet, sleeping baby. Strong enough to bear the universe upon his shoulders for eternity for his family, if it came to that.

No, he'll never again make the mistake of assuming Spock to be a heartless machine incapable of love.

"Look, Mr. Squishy! Look who's here. It's Uncle Bonesy. Hi, Uncle Bonesy!"

Seven months after Savel's birth, here he is sauntering from the aircar to the shaded front porch of the S'chn T'gai-Kirk home, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, grinning like a dumbass at Jim and his baby boy. Jim, in a black tank top and jeans, has a broad smile too while he cuddles Savel upright to his chest and grasps Savel's chunky left arm to wave it in greeting. Savel was already adorable as a newborn. Now, the pointy-eared, Vulcan-Human baby is unbearably cute, his blond hair spiky and luxuriant just like his Human daddy's, his cheeky smile also just like his Human daddy's. Jim's dressed him in a striped, short-sleeved onesie and itty-bitty white socks and goodness, all those fat rolls sure remind him of Jo-Jo's chubby baby days.

"Hey, kid," he greets in return, wrapping an arm around Jim and Savel, letting the Omega man press a clean-shaven face to his neck to sniff his Beta scent. That single, simple action tells him – and anyone else who'd have witnessed it – that he's family to Jim. That he's _precious_ to Jim. It gets him somewhere in the left side of his chest every time Jim does it, but he isn't going to tell Jim that. Next thing he knows, Jim's going to make his kids call him Mr. Marshmallow and tell him what a sweet, gooey creature he is, and how is he going to deal with _that?_

"Man, it's awesome to see you again."

"You look dang good, Jim." Bones gives the younger man a friendly smack on a bare bicep. "You been swimming a lot?"

"Yeah. I guess Spock was right to get the pool built. I needed the exercise and time to myself."

He wasn't just being polite about Jim looking good. Jim's current appearance is a far cry from how he was in the hospital or in the distant past: Jim may have put on some weight since getting pregnant with Savel and giving birth, but it's a positive thing for Jim. He's seen Jim thin from lack of eating and too much alcohol, back in their Academy days. He's seen Jim at the lowest a man can go, curled up in bed naked in their dorm room after throwing up several bottles' worth of whisky and beer and god knows what else, sallow-skinned and bruised, bones showing up where they shouldn't, bloodshot eyes half-lidded and empty.

There were times back then when he thought he was looking at a dead man walking around. A dead man who knew how to fool everybody around him into believing he was alive and didn't need anybody.

He's glad that dead man is gone, buried under a vast, thriving forest fed by love and hope from the good folks who matter. He's glad that his best friend is very much alive and well and _happy_ , free from so many of the inner demons that once haunted him, free to be himself and not ashamed of who and what he is.

"And hi there, little fella. You gonna let me cuddle you?"

Savel stares at him with large, deep brown eyes full of innocent affection. The baby recognizes and remembers him. The baby smiles at him but doesn't make a sound. He isn't worried about that, though. He's here because he _knows_ Savel can use his voice: six days ago, Jim had sent him a video showing Savel sleeping on Jim's chest. Sleeping and dreaming and _laughing aloud_ while he was at it.

He'd chuckled along with the baby. Checked the chronometer and video-called Jim to talk about this very promising development, and neither man said anything about the hoarseness of Jim's voice or about Jim's red-rimmed, overjoyed eyes. After that call, he'd called M'Benga to update the other doctor, then hunkered down to do more research before flying off from San Francisco to New Vulcan to visit Jim, Spock and the kids. (He still has a crap ton of off days to use up.)

Savel reaches out to touch his cheek with tiny, curious fingers. Jim hands Savel over without a word, still smiling. Jim chuckles when Bones grunts under the big baby's weight.

"Oof! You're not a little fella. You're more of a _hefty_ fella, aren't you?"

Savel lets out that adorable huff of air that Jim's told him is the baby's conscious, soundless version of a laugh. Jim's also told him that Spock does the same thing, which lends credence to what he'll be telling Jim soon regarding Savel's condition.

Cuddling Savel to his chest, he follows Jim into the house. He toes off his boots and places them on a shoe rack near the front door, then goes to sit on the cream-colored couch in the airy living room, letting his duffel bag drop to the floor. Jim's opened up one folding door to an unhindered, lovely view of the swimming pool and the towering, leafy trees beyond. He's never seen trees like those on Earth either. The closest comparison he can make is that they look like a combination of banana trees and palm trees. But their _purple_ cucumber-like fruits? With _spikes_? Yeah, it'll take him a while to get used to that sight.

He shakes his head at the bright purple drink that Jim serves him, not to decline the drink but in amusement.

"What the heck is it with this planet and purple _everything_?"

Jim snickers as he sits next to him on the couch. Jim runs his fingers through Savel's hair. Savel, sitting on Bones' lap, kicks chunky legs and tries to reach for the bright purple drink on the coffee table.

"There were many fruits and drinks on Vulcan-That-Was that were purple too. This is Hivas milkshake. A Vulcan drink that tastes kinda like vanilla ice cream and sugar cane with a zing of lime." After glancing at Bones' expression, Jim rolls his eyes and adds, "It's _good_ , okay! Great for hot days like today. It's not gonna _kill_ ya."

He uses his left hand to hold Savel securely and lifts the glass of milkshake to his lips with his other hand. Hm … okay, it _does_ taste kind of like ice cream and sugar cane. Not too sweet. Refreshing like mint. Not bad.

He places the glass back on the coffee table. Rolls his eyes at Jim's smug expression.

"Jesus, you really are just one pair of pointy ears away from becoming a green-blooded hobgoblin yourself."

He shoots a deadpan expression at Jim when the brat sticks a pink tongue out at him.

"Okay, scratch that, you are _nowhere_ close to becoming a Vulcan like your husband."

Savel is amused by his daddy's antics, waving little, chubby arms about and grinning at them both. The central incisors are sprouting out of the baby's lower gums and there's just something about them that makes Bones pinch Savel's rotund, green-tinged cheek. He remembers when Jo-Jo's baby teeth started sprouting too. She chewed on everything and drooled on everything, and his poor little angel would cry until he gently applied one of his fingers wrapped in wet gauze on her aching gums.

Well, she hasn't been his little baby angel for a long time, but she'll always be his beloved daughter. Just like Savel and T'Aman will always be Jim's beloved children.

Sure enough, Savel grabs his fingers and nibbles on the thenar eminence of his hand. It doesn't hurt at all. It tickles.

"Don't worry, my hands are clean," he says to Jim, gazing down at the calm, quiet baby with warm eyes. "Used my portable sterilite on them before I got out of the aircar."

"I know. I trust you."

Jim has no idea how much those three words mean to him, even now, even after his decades of service as a doctor. So many people of various ethnicities and species have placed their lives in his hands, trusting him to take care of them. To heal them. To prolong their lives so they may live a little longer, stay a little longer with their loved ones while they still can. To give them hope when they can't find it anywhere else.

He knows just how much hope he's about to give Jim today.

"M'Benga and I have a theory about Savel."

Jim grasps one of Savel's socked feet and says nothing.

"Your video proves that Savel is able to use his voice and that his vocal chords are indeed just fine. So it's not a physiological issue. We don't think it's a psychological issue either."

Bones glances up to see Jim frowning. Jim rubs the top of Savel's foot with a thumb.

"So … why doesn't Savel talk if he can?"

"Jim, how many psi-null people does Savel regularly interact with?"

Jim blinks wide eyes. Jim stares at him for a moment, then says, "Uh, well. There's you."

"By regular interaction, I mean interaction in person. On a daily basis. Or at least every other day. Savel has only seen me in person, what, three times so far? I'm not counting the weeks after his birth. He was too young to communicate with anyone then, apart from those projections of rudimentary emotions, right?"

Jim's forehead furrows, but he also nods in agreement.

"So. How many psi-null people?"

"Zero."

"Right." Bones glances down at the baby boy who's now tugging at his fingers and studying them with the kind of raptness only babies have. "And you, Spock and T'Aman regularly communicate with Savel via telepathy."

"Yeah, we have to. It's the only way Savel communicates with us."

"And the Vulcan doctors said Savel's telepathic abilities developed much earlier than most Vulcan babies, right? That his ability to project images and emotions is very rare?"

"Yes."

"And Savel has never had to directly communicate with a psi-null person. He's always gone through you or Spock for that. Right?"

Like he's told Jim time and time again, he knows Jim is a smart man. He can see the pieces of the puzzle fall into place for Jim with each passing second. Jim's eyes narrow, then widen in realization. Jim glances down at Savel who calmly gazes back at his daddy.

"But T'Aman, she ..." Jim's forehead is furrowed again. "She was mostly with me and Spock for the first six months of her life, just like Savel. We stayed in the Vulcan Consulates in Sausalito. She cried when she was born. She made all kinds of noises from the start."

"Yes, she did. You also spent most of your first pregnancy on Earth. She was born on Earth. And yeah, y'all stayed in the Vulcan Consulates, but you still regularly took her out to the park and other public places. Places full of Humans."

Jim blinks again, still grasping Savel's socked foot.

"And then she lived on the Enterprise for the next four years of her life," Bones says. "Surrounded by Humans."

"Psi-null people."

"Yeah. T'Aman _had_ to learn to talk, if she wanted to communicate with Humans and any other psi-null folks. But Savel ..."

They gaze down at the baby boy who's now chewing on a chunky fist, his large, deep brown eyes glassy with drowsiness. Jim caresses the length of his son's forearm.

"Savel's never had to. Not yet," Jim murmurs. "He communicates so well with projected images and feelings that he … he doesn't feel the need to talk with his voice?" Jim glances at him, biting a plump lower lip in doubt. "Is it really that simple, Bones?"

"Occam's razor, kid. The simplest solution is usually the correct one." Bones shrugs. "Like I said, we got the proof he can use his voice. We know his vocal chords are fine. We know he's communicating his thoughts and feelings via telepathy, which means he's developing well mentally and emotionally. He tends to follow his Vulcan daddy in behavior while T'Aman tends to follow you, and Spock did say that it's common for Vulcan babies to be quiet and not laugh at all." He raises an eyebrow. "And Vulcans aren't well known for their wild, raucous parties, are they?"

Jim's lips tremor with mirth. The sight makes Bones' lips curl up.

"About a month ago, the Vulcan Science Academy had its annual dinner and Spock brought me as his plus one."

Bones widens his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Vulcans have _annual dinner parties_?"

Jim's lips tremor even more, his blue eyes crinkled.

"If by annual dinner party, you mean everyone stands around in blinged-up, formal robes with blank faces and chitchats like they're giving educational lectures to each other, then yeah."

"You must have been bored outta your mind."

Jim stops fighting the smile that spreads across his face, and he lets out a mischievous snicker.

"I was. Kinda. Until I poured a whole lotta chocolate powder into the punch."

This time, Bones' eyes go wide with genuine surprise and glee. Jim laughs even harder as Bones exclaims, "You _spiked_ their drinks?! You little hellion."

"And I didn't tell Spock."

"Oh lord."

"Spock was the first to drink the spiked punch." Jim turns on the couch to face Bones and Savel, rocking back and forth with amusement, grinning like the overgrown imp he is. "Oh my god, you shoulda seen him. He was thirsty so he drank a whole glass of it and then other Vulcans were taking their own glasses and in, like, ten minutes, they were all green in the face and ears, and many of them even started dancing to the traditional Vulcan music being played by the band in the background. It was hilarious! But hey, some of them had pretty _smooth moves_ , you know. I was impressed."

It takes Bones a moment to recall that Vulcans have copper blood and blush green instead of red like Humans. He shakes his head, smiling widely at Jim. On his lap, Savel stares at his daddy with enthralled eyes and a small smile, damp lips parted.

"And Spock?"

Jim laughs again, covering his face with his hands.

"Oh my _god_ , Spock was _so_ drunk. He was like ..." Jim straightens his spine, pulls back his shoulders and dons a stern, thin-lipped expression, and it's such a bang-up impression of Spock that Bones can't help snickering. "And he held his hands behind his back the whole time, and he just stood in place and refused to sit down or walk around." Jim drops the act and throws his hands up in the air, his flushed face creased with mirth. "He used me as a leaning post! He wouldn't let me walk away, so I was stuck to his side the whole night like a Siamese twin!"

Bones snorts, then asks, "So what did the Vulcans do when they figured out what happened?"

"I dunno if they actually found out. I wasn't the only Human who attended the dinner, and chocolate's been available in the markets here since Uzh-Shi'Kahr was founded. I do know _some_ of them suspected me, though."

"Yeah?" Bones says, an amused smile spreading across his face again.

"About a week after the dinner, I was at the Academy to meet Spock for lunch with the kids. Outta nowhere, this group of Vulcans in civilian robes and their Academy medallions approached me. I recognized them as Vulcans who'd gone to the dinner too, and this really grim-looking guy stepped up to talk to me. And you know what he said?"

"What?"

Jim dons a stern, thin-lipped expression again, and somehow it's even funnier to Bones than Jim's impression of Spock. He's amazed that he can tell Jim is pretending to be a different Vulcan when Vulcans are supposed to be expressionless.

"'Captain Kirk,'" Jim says with a dramatically low voice, and Bones' shoulders begin to shake. "'The VSA Annual Gathering 7.2 days ago was a gratifying event enhanced by your presence. We look forward to your attendance with your t'hai'la at our next gathering. May we suggest that you oversee the refreshments for it?'"

Bones cracks up into guffaws in unison with Jim who throws his head back from his laughter. Okay, he has to hand it to the Vulcans this once: they can be rather humorous when they want to be. He knows Spock employs dry humor as a weapon in conversation now and then, but he's always chalked it up to Spock's Human heritage more than anything else –

A piercing squeal overrides their guffaws.

It's such an unexpected sound that he and Jim go silent, gaping at each other before gaping down at Savel. Savel, who'd vocalized that piercing squeal. Savel, whose eyes are humongous with shock, frozen stiff by the unfamiliar noise that had erupted out of his own mouth.

The baby's theatrical reaction sends Bones into a new fit of laughter, and there goes Jim too, laughing even harder than before, eyes squeezed shut while slapping one hand on a thigh. For several seconds, Savel looks torn between bursting into soundless tears and breaking into a smile. Then, gradually, adorably, Savel's entire face brightens with a delighted smile. The baby boy bounces and waves his fists about.

Jim grabs his son under the arms and lifts him into the air, grinning up at him. Bones makes no mention of the other man's glistening eyes.

"That was _awesome_ , buddy! You did good!"

Savel kicks his chunky legs in the air, giving his daddy a grin dazzling enough to rival the sun. Bones allows his face to soften as Jim brings Savel down to noisily kiss green-tinged cheeks still bunched in a smile. There was a time when Jim believed that he would die alone, with no one to give a damn about him, much less remember him with love. That time's long gone now. Spock will never allow that to happen. Neither will Bones.

"Occam's razor, huh?" Jim says after a while, tucking Savel under his chin and to his chest.

Bones gets what Jim is really asking. His face remains softened. It is a face that very, very few people in this universe will ever see on him.

"He's gonna be okay, Jim," he murmurs. "You're an outstanding father, and I know you and Spock will always love him and take care of his needs, no matter what."

Jim gazes down at Savel, pressing his cheek against his son's forehead, stroking one pointed ear with tender fingertips. The somnolent baby's eyes are almost shut. The sweet baby is as safe as he will ever be in his Human daddy's arms.

"Thanks, Leo," Jim rasps. "I learned how to be one from you."

Goddamnit, it's just like the brat to want the last word. To hit him right in that peculiar part of his chest where his memories of Jo-Jo and all the love he's got for her reside. Where all the love he's got for the still stubborn, noble, self-sacrificing, loving brat sitting next to him also resides.

And for once, this one time, he doesn't grumble or snap in denial. He rests a hand on Jim's knee, a single, simple action that speaks a thousand words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Bones and his medical expertise: I'm aware of how unbelievable it may be that he is able to assist M'Benga - who is the Human expert in Vulcan medicine and biology, as far as my research on the character goes - in brain surgery and also know how to handle risky Omega births. But hey, we're also talking about a doctor who somehow managed to bring a radiation poisoning-dead guy back to life using superhuman blood. That's canon (and I love how mad it is). *grin*


	29. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Spirk feels in haiku.
> 
> (My apologies for such a short update. Been very busy and stressed with Real Life, and I haven't been able to write fan fiction for a while. I _have_ been plotting out a new Spirk story, though. *grin* I hope to get that one done soon.)

You dive in the pool  
Breaking the cold, blue mirror  
A different world

Fresh purple harvest  
Tall ring of green around home  
Sweetness in your mouth

Our children watch you  
Listen to your laugh, and learn  
To live and to thrive

Your hands yank my robes  
Your grin, the water buoy me  
Ears twitch and mouth spouts

My name from your lips  
Mere gleam to your gold sun-warmth  
Catch my breath, again


	30. (From The Guardian, pregnant!Jim and his Vulcan mate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that this isn't an update to the story itself. I have at least five chapters that are WIPs at the moment. But thanks to The Guardian (yes, the newspaper) and [its article about fanfiction](https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/aug/08/fanfiction-fifty-shades-star-trek-harry-potter), here is this magnificent art of pregnant!Jim and Spock hugging him from behind. Such a well done piece. 
> 
> Bless The Guardian and the artist, Bill McConkey, who drew it. <3 And thank you so much to all of you for reading this story, and bookmarking, commenting, and leaving kudos on it! Live long and prosper, y'all.


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